The Kids Are Alright
by CelticWolfman
Summary: Part 3 of 3 of the Three Wise Men Trilogy. The kids stand on the brink of the future, on the brink of fulfilling their dreams and sometimes, just on the brink of insanity. Our favourite JAG characters have gotta help their kids through this one....somehow
1. The Erie Game

_A/N: Okay, I tried eight versions of this first chapter and I didn't like any of them except this one. I've gone through several possible story formats and didn't like any of them except this one. I don't expect this story to go beyond 12-13 chapters in all honesty, so it's going to be a short ride._

My life has been a bit of a continuing tumult since grade eight, my friends just seem to keep on leaving. Going into Grade Nine, I was going into high school with a set group of friends. I had Brad, Jack, Jimmy and Arleigh who were my closest friends. Tim Ross had left town at the end of grade eight to go to Phillip-Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. But we ended up adding a new friend in Peter Ashby who was playing on the school Varsity hockey team with Brad as the only other freshman.

Well, Brad and Peter became the star recruits of the United States National Team Development Program for USA Hockey. They'd go to all the major tournaments and play for Team USA. In August, the two of them would be in the Czech Republic playing for Team USA in the Ivan Hlinka Tournament against the best hockey players under the age of eighteen from the best hockey playing countries in the world. In December, they'd join Team USA again at the World Under 17 Challenge in Canada and then in April they'd go back to Europe to play for Team USA at the International Ice Hockey Federation's Under Eighteen Championship.

Then at age fifteen, their agent convinced them to register for the Ontario Hockey League draft just so that no avenues would be closed to them in the hockey world. In December of last year, instead of the two of them going to the World Under 17 Challenge, only Peter went. Brad was selected by Team USA to represent the country at the World Junior Hockey Championship which is the tournament for the elite players in the world under the age of twenty.

Now, since I've bored all of you to death with all this talk, I guess I'll just get to the point. After those two tournaments, Brad opted to join the Ontario Hockey League team that had drafted him the year earlier and Peter followed a similar route. By the middle of January, Brad was billeted with a family in Kitchener, Ontario and playing for their Kitchener Rangers, marketed as some kind of sixteen year-old _wunderkind_. Peter's route took him to Erie, Pennsylvania to play for the Erie Otters.

In my life, I've had romantic feelings for only two men; Tim Ross until I was thirteen and Brad Ross everyday since then. Yes, I know it's weird to have romantic feelings about two brothers – especially when they're two-thirds of a triplet – but I've come to terms with it and would be thankful if you all out there would refrain from judging. Now, the reason this matters is that my best friend and secret crush (although after two kisses, I'm not sure how secret it is any more) now lives a thousand kilometres away in a Canadian city, I've never been to, playing for a team I've never heard of.

So, now that our senior year has started, we're still in two different places. I'm toiling away in Arlington, Virginia most days of the week and he's in Canada playing hockey, travelling around from city to city on road trips with twenty friends on a charter bus. But tonight, tonight I came to Kitchener to watch the Rangers' home opener.

You walk into this arena and you're hit by the strikingly blue collar atmosphere. You can't take five steps around here without seeing a union cap or a bomber jacket. It smells of popcorn and grease from the deep fryer. The arena seats about 6,000 with standing room for about five hundred and I've been given seats in one of the luxury boxes for the night. It's amazing to listen to the buzz in this arena. Everyone's wearing their blue jersey, as if Friday night games in this city are a ritual like a religious service or something.

I'm standing here with most of Brad's family looking at the blank sheet of ice below. The house lights are down and loud thumping music beings to play. The gate opens at the far end of the rink and the opposing team skates out on to the ice. I notice the familiar name and number of one of the Erie players; number 14, Peter Ashby.

Then the music lowers a bit and a spotlight flashes on the gate by the benches. I guess that's where the Rangers come on to the ice. The Public Address announcer here at the Kitchener Auditorium welcomes the capacity crowd to the first home game of the season. He begins by announcing the players on this season's Kitchener Rangers roster as they skate out on to the ice and line-up side by side on the blue line. After the first fourteen skaters were announced, it was time for the starting line-up.

"Starting in goal for your Kitchener Rangers, from Holland, Ohio, number thirty-nine Richie Moran!" As soon as it came over the PA, the Kitchener goal hopped on to the ice and skated toward his goal at the left end of the ice. "Starting on defence for your Kitchener Rangers, from Massena, New York, number four and Alternate Captain Nolan White!" The large defenseman hopped on to the ice and joined his team-mates on the blue-line. "And number twenty-four, from Kingston, Ontario, Kyle McWilliam!" Another large defenseman stepped on to the ice and joined his team-mates on the blue-line.

"These kids are huge!" I hear Uncle Nate whisper to my dad who nods in agreement. "I don't remember being in that good of shape when I was seventeen." They share a laugh.

"Now your starting forwards! At left wing, number ninety-four from Harlem, New York City, Carey Moore!" An African-American skater stepped on to the ice and skated over to his spot with his team-mates. "At centre, number sixty-eight and a native of Liberec, Czech Republic, Tomas Hudarcik!" This time it was a slightly smaller and thinner boy who stepped on to the ice. "And finally, last year's Ontario Hockey League rookie of the year, starting on right wing for your Kitchener Rangers, from Washington D.C., number seventy-nine and alternate captain, Bradley Ross!" Brad stepped on to the ice and took two strides to join his team-mates. The arena had erupted into applause.

There was a short ceremony held where the two team Captains took a ceremonial face-off, both national anthems were sung and then the two teams readied their starting lines for the start of the game. Blue has always kind of been Brad's colour when it came to hockey. He wore it in high school for the Bishop O'Connell Knights; he wore it for Team USA and he wears it now for the Rangers.

The puck is dropped and Peter Ashby wins the face-off for the Erie Otters and draws the puck back to his defenseman. The Erie defenseman moves back a bit with the puck, preparing to cycle it around. He fed a pass up the middle back to Peter but the second Peter got the puck, Brad lined him up for a hit and dropped him like a sack of bricks. That may look like hard feelings, but I'm sure they'll laugh about it after the game.

Brad scooped up the puck and slid a pass over to Hudarcik. The little Czech was able to turn on all kinds of speed as he wheeled down the right hand side of the ice to a spot behind the net. A flurry of snow was created as his skates came to harsh stop. Hudarcik lightly shuffles the puck, going from his backhand to his forehand. The Erie defence is trying to set up. The Czech centre slides a pass up to Brad at the half-boards. Even among conditioned young adult hockey players, Brad's size gives him an advantage since he's six-foot-six on skates. He moves in toward the net from the half-boards, his build allowing him to deflect attempts to knock him off the puck. He flits a quick pass over the stick of an Erie defender to left winger Carey Moore who fires home a one-timer shot to give Kitchener a 1-0 lead.

The arena bursts into a giant eruption of blue commotion. 6,500 people begin to chant along with the music, shouting "Oh-oh-oh, let's go Rangers!" I have to smile, this is the kind of environment that Brad always wanted to play hockey in. Here there are little kids wearing copies of his jersey in the stands and cheering him on as if he were a hometown boy. The Public Address announcer cuts off my train of thought. "Ranger goal, his first of the season scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore! Assisted by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number sixty-eight Tomas Hudarcik. Time of the goal, 1:08."

The line hops on to the bench and hangs over the side. The blue mouth guard in Brad's mouth makes his smile look particularly unattractive even though it's beaming from ear to ear. It was an extra long shift, but it ended in a goal, so the coach isn't too upset with them for eating up another thirteen seconds of ice time. The period stretches on. Erie responds with a power-play goal on a shot from the point to tie the game. Brad seems to be one of the go-to guys on this team as he never seems to leave the ice during the last two minutes of the period.

There's another Kitchener penalty near the end of the period and Brad comes on to the ice after a short break with the Czech centre Hudarcik, as well as the defensemen White and McWilliam. They set up in a sort of diamond pattern on the penalty kill. Ranger defenseman White breaks up an Erie pass along the boards and sends a long lead pass straight up the middle of the ice to Brad who's already around centre ice. He's streaking in on the Erie goal. Try though they might, no one on the Erie defence is going to be able to catch him once he has a few strides on them. He's in on goal and it's a move I've seen seventy or eighty times over the last decade. He pumps a hard fake to his backhand to get the goalie to commit, and the Erie goalie bites like a champion walleye. Brad curls his stick and skates at an almost impossible angle to bright the puck back to his forehand and slid it around the sprawling goaltender to give the Rangers the lead.

The arena erupts again as Brad is mobbed on his way back to the bench by his celebratory team-mates. The fans begin to chant as the pandemonium eventually gives way to the public address announcer. "Ranger goal, his first of the season, scored by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross!" The camera for the jumbo-tron fixed on Brad on the bench. "The assist goes to number four, Nolan White! Time of the goal, 19:48." Twelve seconds later, the period ends.

I look up at the television screen and see a reporter from the local media standing in the hallway that leads to the Ranger dressing room. Ranger hockey is literally a religion in this city. The reporter pulls Brad aside for a second. His hair is dripping with sweat and the blue mouth-guard is popped out of his mouth. The reporter is an older, greyer, chubbier, balding man with glasses and drooping jowls. "Brad, that was an impressive period to start the season, were you maybe trying to impress dad a bit since he's in the stands tonight?"

"No, I forgot he was here while I was out there." Brad laughs and pushes the hair back out of his face. "It was a tough period, Erie's a good team and they came at us hard, I just tried to help hold them off."

"You laid a pretty good hit on your old buddy Peter Ashby out there, any hard feelings?" The reporter presses and Brad laughs again.

"Nah, when we were in school I use to tell him to stay out of the trolley-tracks at centre ice but he stepped into them out there so I laid him out." Brad smiled into the camera.

"After last year's disappointing seventh game, double overtime loss in the OHL Championship to the Niagara Ice Dogs, how badly does this team want to make it back there this year and maybe even all the way to Kingston for the Memorial Cup?" The reporter can only ask one more question as the Kitchener coach stands in the background waiting for Brad.

"Oh, that was harsh for us; I think we hit the ice in July this year trying to make sure it didn't happen again this season. We're a good group with Huddy and uh, Mickey and Gags and all the guys so, we've got a real chance at it this year." Brad catches a towel from the coach and wipes off his face. He nods at the interviewer and follows his coach into the dressing room.

I'm feeling hungry; dad says I have mom's appetite. I think he's right sometimes but I'll never tell him. I move out of the stairwell into the main concourse where the concession stands are. Trying to move around down here is vaguely reminiscent of salmon race. I finally get in line for a slice of pizza and a Coke. I'm gonna have to get a slice of vegetarian, it's the least likely to give me a coronary the next time I try to climb the stairs. I elbow, and I do mean elbow, my way out of the crowd back toward the stairwell.

"Miss Rabb!" I hear a voice shout and I turn around to hear a stout, short, balding man come running up to me.

"Can I help you?" I inquire as I watch him carefully.

"Yes, I'm with the Philadelphia Flyers organization and according to every magazine and news organization on the planet, you're a friend of Brad Ross." He breathes heavy to catch his breath. "I want to know what kind of person he is."

"I'm his friend, I'm sure that's not the kind of objective opinion you need." I try to compensate but he's got this fond, Keebler Elf kind of smile on his face.

"I talk to coaches, parents, billets, team-mates and none of them have objective opinions. It would be nice to get the opinion of someone who has no vested interest in how he does as a hockey player." The scout explains. I have to think of how to answer this. Does he believe all the tabloids that say Brad and I have been having some kind of illicit affair since High School started? Does he realize he's asking me to give him an opinion about a guy I've been in love with for a few years now?

"You get what you pay for." I tell him cryptically. "He doesn't hide a lot, if he's got a problem with anyone; he'll confront it and get passed it. He trains a lot to stay in shape, from what I remember in High School back home, he was always the first one on the ice and the last one off."

"I can hear all this from the Ranger coach." The scout interrupts me. "I want to know what kind of person he is, who he is, all the stuff you don't get from the coach."

"Well, his favourite athletes are Tom Brady and Josh Beckett. His favourite colour is Blue; he seems to wear it for every hockey team he has ever played for. He likes being the go-to guy, and he loves having to perform under pressure." I'd be so tempted to make a sex joke hear if I weren't talking to a sixty year-old man who might keel over. "As good as he is at dealing with reporters; he kind of hates having his picture taken. He loves hockey and I know it's cliché to say but from October to April of every year it was impossible to really get much time with him outside of school because all he wanted to do was put on skates."

"Thank you." He nods and heads back through the concourse toward the stands. Uncle Nate invited a scout from the Boston Bruins to tonight's game and last I checked he was chatting with Jack up in the luxury box. The second period goes much like the first. There's a faster pace than high school hockey back home and there's a lot more hitting. Erie scores on a power-play to tie the game about five minutes into the period and the score is tied: 2-2. A few moments later, Peter Ashby breaks in on the Kitchener goalie with a team-mate of his. The whole time he plays like he's going to pass before rifling a hard wrist shot over the shoulder of the Kitchener goalie to give Erie the lead.

That takes us to the late third period and a Kitchener power-play. Brad shields the puck from Erie checkers behind the Erie net as he tries to find an open passing lane. He turns on some speed as he ducks out from behind the net. He fires a fast pass back to the defence where Nolan White launched a cannon of a slap-shot through a crowd of players and into the back of the Erie net to tie the game back up. The last goal came just as Kitchener finished killing off a penalty. The Rangers had created some short-handed pressure in the Erie zone at the end of the penalty and as the penalized skater came over to the Kitchener bench, the coach sent Brad on to the ice for the final minute. The small French-Canadian centre, Aaron Gagne, hits a streaking Brad Ross below the circles in the Erie zone, and Brad slips a wrist shot home to give Kitchener a one goal lead: 4-3.

That was how the game ended. I slunk away from the crowd up in the luxury box down to ice level, near the Rangers' dressing room. These guys down here all come out of the dressing room in suits, unlike back home when the players left the room in jeans and a bad flannel shirt. I seed Brad come out with another player in a headlock. I recognize the other boy as the other winger from Brad's line, Carey Moore. When Brad's eyes catch mine he hesitates for a second before letting go of Carey and smiling broadly. "Hey there, kiddo." He's smiling at me. He takes two steps and wraps me in a huge bear hug. I keep for getting that I'm only 5'7" and that he comes in at slightly over 6'3". So when he hugs me, he lifts me well off the ground. A grunt comes from behind him. "Right, sorry Carey, this is Sasha Rabb." Brad introduces us. "Sash, this is Mr. Fabulous."

"Mr. Fabulous, that's an interesting moniker." I shake his hand.

"It's an appropriate one." Carey Moore chuckles and punches Brad on the shoulder. "See you at the morning skate tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Brad answers with a nod and the two of us move back down the tunnel toward the ice. "So, how ya been, kiddo?"

"Pretty good." I look over at him, trying to catch his eye. "School kind of sucks without you and Ashby." He points toward the bench and we take a seat.

"Yeah, I bet." He smiles fondly, looks out over the ice and takes a long, lingering breath. "Hate to break it to you but you and Jimmy Roberts were never exactly the exciting type."

"Oh yeah, well I bet you're having tonnes of fun up here in the great white north." I bit my lower lip. "Admit it, you love it here. Every Friday night you step into this building, you're cheered on by 6,500 screaming fans; there's a bunch of kids who look up to you like you're some great Olympian God and they proudly wear blue Rangers jerseys with your name on them to every game. If you could be anywhere in your life right now, you'd be here."

"Yeah, you're right." He nods, not looking at me. "I kind of wish sometimes that you were here with me." His eyes lock on mine. "Just to keep me grounded."

"I'm sure your team-mates do a good job of that." I try to muster up a laugh but I find I'm a little sore from the flight up here and the last three hours standing around this arena. I move my hand up to the side of my neck. He spins me around on the bench and begins to slowly rub my shoulders. This is one of the things I really miss when he's a thousand kilometres away. He's got these big, strong hands that really know how to me the right way. "Damn, that feels good." I moan and I can feel that superior macho smile emanating from behind me.

Can I tell him? Tell him that I miss the times when we'd let our emotions get the better of us and just kiss? Can I let him know why I came all this way to watch him play? I mean, after almost a decade of watching it, I actually do like hockey but I don't usually travel to Canada to watch it. I reach over my shoulder and place one hand on top of his. I can feel the nervous energy course through his body. I know he's going to try and manoeuvre his way out of this situation, but I don't know how. I see him cast a glance down at his watch.

"You know, coach has us on a curfew when we've got a morning skate the next day." He gets up off the bench and stands hesitantly over me. "I've gotta get up at five, on the ice at seven, off the ice at nine-thirty and then into the gym for about two hours. It's kind of a long day tomorrow, but I can probably swing by your hotel around 1300 tomorrow afternoon and show you around for the day."

"Yeah, that sounds alright." I nod disappointedly. I believe that he really does have a skate and a workout tomorrow. After all, this is the team that this city has pinned its hopes of a championship on. This is also Brad's draft year and all the NHL scouts are here taking a look at him. He's gotta stay in peak physical condition. "We're at the Delta K-W downtown, know where it is?"

"Yeah, my billets only live a few blocks away." He grins and extends his arm to help me up off the bench. We head back through the hallways of the arena out to the parking lot where Uncle Nate is waiting with my dad and Brad's brothers Jack and Harry. We pile into the waiting limo and the first thing we have to do is drive the five or so blocks from the arena to Brad's billets' house. We drop him off and the limo pulls away, I cast a quick glance out the back window to see him entering the small post-war home.


	2. The London Game

A lot of guys would complain about being so far from home. I love it. The Ontario Hockey League is the staging ground for the next generation of NHL stars. Names like Gretzky, Francis, Lindros, MacInnis, Potvin, Coffey, Thornton and Staal all played in the league before going on to superstardom in the NHL. I'm not saying that I'm going to be those guys, I probably won't be but this year is my draft year and I intend to make the scouts pay as much attention to me as humanly possible.

So, I won't deny that it was a bit of a distraction to have Sasha here this weekend. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. I understand why dad's here; it's a big year for me and my brothers Jack and Tim, so dad's doing his best to get us through it with the best possible result. Jack and Harry are here because they like watching hockey games and as entertaining as High School hockey might be, it's not Canadian Major Junior. Even Sasha's dad, I mean I can understand why he'd come along on the trip, he hates Washington almost as much as dad now.

But Sasha? She might like hockey, but would she travel a thousand kilometres to watch a game? Unlikely. She is my friend, but how much could she possibly miss me that she couldn't wait until I get a little time off? There's gotta be something more going on here. Anyway, back to what I was saying, and the fact that I have to get back to it tells you how much of a distraction Sasha can be.

I followed my routine pretty close to the letter yesterday; until I got to the workout after the skate. Normally, I can run a few miles on the treadmill, get on the bike for a few more miles and then do a few reps on the bench. I didn't do as many miles on the treadmill as I usually do, I didn't go as far on the bike as I usually do and I only did ten reps with the 150 instead of fifteen. I was out of the gym about thirty minutes early, which isn't good. Then I showed her around the city, not like there's a lot to see compared to D.C. but I showed her around anyway. We ran into a few guys from the team at Dairy Queen near the arena; Huddy, Gags, Chunky, Mr. Fabulous, Doc and Chief were real nice to her but I could tell just from their tone yesterday that I was gonna hear it before the game this afternoon.

So, now we're sitting around the dressing room before our Sunday afternoon game against London. The London Knights are one of only two or three other teams in the Ontario League with a program on par with ours. We're sitting around, tying our skates or taping our socks around our shin-guards. "So Cap', come clean, how long have you been tappin' that ass we saw you with yesterday?" Carey Moore's a bit of a pain in the ass and a little arrogant but he's funny as hell.

"Back off, Carey." I toss a rolled up ball of tape at him.

"I don't know, Cap'." Doc is pulling the laces on his skates tight. "She seemed awful cozy with you, I find it hard to believe any guy our age spends a lot of time with that woman without getting a horizontal dancing lesson."

"I said back off, guys." I stare down at the hard blue rubber mat under my feet.

"Back off, fellows." Huddy steps in to act the part of my older brother. He gives me a fraternal pat on the shoulder and the room goes quiet. It's amazing how the guys in this room respect him. Him and snowman are the oldest guys in the room; they've earned the silence when they ask for it. "Besides, he just said he hasn't, doesn't mean he won't." And once again the laughter in the room sparks up.

"Alright, cut the grab-assing." Coach walks in and with a thundering baritone, he silences the room. "Now, we've got something to prove, men. The London Knights have been touted as favourites to win our division this year. Everyone thinks that they've got what it takes to march over the rest of the league and all the way to Kingston for the Memorial Cup in May. Here, right now, is where we start our quest to stop them. You've all read _The Hockey News_ and you've all watched television and you all know what the pundits and the "experts" think. But none of that matters because a hockey season is played sixty minutes at a time and for the next sixty minutes; it's your job to stop the London Knights, alright!"

"Yeah!" The guys all shout. Now that we're all finished putting on our equipment, we line up at the door to head for the rink. Team Co-Captain Paul "Snowman" Winters, is standing at the door tapping each of us on the shin-guards as we pass. The arena here is the loudest I've ever skated in. Fans turn out 6,500 strong to watch us play, kids come up to me before and after the game to ask for my autograph and they do it while wearing a blue and white Ranger jersey with my name and number on it.

There's a quick skate for the starting line before we stand on the blue-line for the national anthem. It's the same starting line as it was against Erie. I'm starting on right wing and Huddy is between me and Mr. Fabulous. One thing I love about this league as opposed to playing High School hockey in the States is the pace. In my last season in Virginia (technically a half season, since I left for here in January) I had ninety goals in twenty-eight games. It was easy when I was the biggest, fastest guy on the ice with the best shot. Here, I'm just one guy out of twenty three in a red, white and blue jersey and a red helmet.

The puck hits the ice and our white jerseys clash with the black jerseys of the London Knights. The puck slides into our end and White chases it down and around behind the net. He slides an outlet pass up to Carey at the half-boards in our defensive zone. Carey takes a quick survey of his options before throwing a quick pass up to Huddy who's streaking through the middle of the ice.

When Huddy gets a full head of steam, there's almost no one in the league that can put a hand on him. Huddy moves his way around three London Knights and soon there's only one London defenseman standing between him and the London goal. Huddy moves to his left to go around the defenseman but at the last second, the London defenseman sticks out his knee to trip up Huddy on his way by. Huddy crumbles to the ice and just as he does, he slides me a pass and I fire a quick shot over the shoulder of the London goalie into the net. The red light goes on and the referee motions that the goal counts but back in front of the London net there's a fracas between our two teams. I skate over into the middle of it and I notice that Huddy is down on the ice clutching his knee. Carey's getting in the face of London's resident shit disturber, Brendan Danko. I step between Carey and Danko to try and separate them but Danko takes a swing with his glove and punches the side of my helmet.

I turn back toward him. "You wanna go, Danko?" I charge. Danko's a little pain in the ass, I've probably got four or five inches on him and at least twenty pounds. Danko nods hard at me and the two of us move away from the fray and the refs at the same time. We drop our gloves and pull our helmets off. We spend a few seconds circling each other before launching into the fight. What a lot of non-hockey people don't understand about fighting is that it's how the players police each other during the course of the game. If someone goes after one of your best players, than it's the job of one of your tough guys to go out there and set him straight so that the rest of your guys are left alone. If you don't respond, then it keeps happening.

I can hold Danko at arm's length with my left arm while just swinging away with my right fist. I land a few good hard punches to his cheekbone and forehead. I think he only lands two punches, one hits my shoulder and the other only glances my chin. I've pull his jersey over his and I've got him bent over. Now, I'm going straight upper cuts and I land two or three really hard ones right square on his nose. Danko begins to bleed, his nose is probably broken and he falls to the ice. The referees come over and separate us. The fight's over.

Danko's being guided to the London dressing room so that the Knights' trainer can patch up the three cuts he received in the fight. The fans here in Kitchener are on their feet giving me an ovation as the ref guides me to the penalty box. Carey brings my gloves, stick and helmet over to the penalty box and hands them to me. "If you didn't straighten the little fucker out, I was going to." He tells me with a wide smile.

"Glad I could be of service." I chuckle as I put my helmet back on my head and wait for the public address announcer.

"Ranger goal, his third of the season, scored by number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross! Assists to number sixty-eight, Tomas Hudarcik and number ninety-four, Carey Moore; time of the goal, 1:02." The PA announcer clears his throat. "Kitchener Ranger penalty to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross, five minutes for fighting. London Knights penalty to number six, Brendan Danko, two minute for unsportsmanlike conduct, five minutes for fighting and a ten minute misconduct." There's a cheer from the crowd when they hear about the added penalty time to Danko.

It's my draft year, and I know that as much as the scouts love watching guys score goals, make beautiful plays to set up goals, lay down big hits and skate like the wind; they love seeing guys stand up for their team-mates like I just did. So, I'll admit that standing up for Huddy wasn't a completely altruistic endeavour. But for my efforts, I get a five minute sit-down here in the box.

We've got one of the best power-play units in the league but with Huddy in the dressing room getting his knee looked at and me sitting here in the penalty box, it's lacking a bit. We run four forwards with Nolan White as the lone defenseman because of his thundering slap-shot. Nick Bay (we call him 'Doc') wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Gags (Aaron Gagne) at the point. Gags, works the puck around to Chief (Henry White Owl) at the half-boards. Chief works the puck back up to Gags at the point. Gags shifts a pass over to White. Carey and Doc rush the front of the net and Nolan powers a slap-shot on net that goes through a maze of legs, including those of the London goaltender, and into the net. The arena erupts with cheers again and I thump my stick on the penalty box door to cheer on my team-mates. Within seconds, the public address announcer takes over again.

"Ranger goal, his second of the season, scored by number four, Nolan White! Assists to number twelve, Aaron Gagne and number twenty-seven, Henry White Owl; time of the goal, 3:01." The Public Addresses announcers is soon drowned out by loud choruses of "oh-oh-oh, let's go Rangers!" from the crowd. I'll sit out the remaining, three minutes and one second of my penalty a little easier now.

At the end of the period, we're still leading the Knights 2-0 as we head for the dressing room. I walk in and sit at my dressing stall while our trainer Raff Leopold works on Huddy's knee. "What's the prognosis, Raff?" Coach looks down at the trainer.

"Looks like an ACL problem." Raff says with a scowl on his face. "Can't tell if it's bad enough to require surgery or not." Everyone in the room fears hearing those three letters from Raff's mouth: ACL. If it's not bad, then you're out for 5-6 weeks. If it does require surgery, then your season is over.

"Alright." Coach nods. "Doc, you're up on the top line with Brad and Carey." Nick Bay gives the coach a nod. Coach turns to me and laughs. "Since when do you fight?"

"Couldn't let a little shit like Danko get away with a cheap shot on Huddy, coach." I answer trying to avoid the glare that is likely burning holes in the top of my head.

"Alright, just remember not to swing above your weight class." Coach laughs. "Alright guys, we're controlling the play well but I'd like to see us take the Knights out of the game here in the second period. You're bigger than they are and you're stronger than they are. No one crosses your blue-line, understood?"

"Yeah." There's a round of mumbles.

"Good!" Coach's voice gets a little louder. "Take the body to them and don't let up just because we've got a few more goals. Keep your feet moving, you draw more penalties that way." After a few more minutes of stressing the game plan, coach pulls the third and fourth liners aside for a little fine tuning while the rest of us tighten our skates and re-tape our sticks.

"Hey, Cap." Huddy taps my shoulder pads.

"What's up, Hudd?" I question as I look back over my shoulder.

"Thanks for getting that little bastard for me." He grunts in pain as Raff examines his knee.

"Don't mention it, Hudd." I groan as I pull the laces on my skates tight. "You'd do the same thing if it were me, right?"

"Hell yeah." Hudd says somewhat enthusiastically.

"We'll win the game for ya, Hudd." I give him a pat on the shoulder as the buzzer goes out on the rink meaning the ice cleaning is over and we've got to line up to go back out for the second period. Coach sends Gags, Chief and Connor Langford over the boards as the forwards to start the period while the rest of us sit on the bench. My family's still here, they'll go home tonight because Jack, Harry and Sasha all actually have to be in class tomorrow. The lines change on the fly and the coach give me, Doc and Carey pats on the back to climb over the boards.

Doc's normally our top shutdown centre but he'll be playing an offensive role now that he's with me and Carey. Doc jumps right into the play coming back toward our own end and throws a huge body-check that knocks the Knights' Captain flat on his back. Doc scoops up the puck and fires a crisp pass up to me. After a few strides, I reach top speed and it's me and Carey headed in on the London net. I shuffle the puck, backhand to forehand and then back to the backhand. I'm turning on my skates slowly, always aware of where Carey is. As we get in close to the net, I flip a quick backhand pass over to Carey who drives a shot passed the London goalie. We've now got a 3-0 lead.

"Ranger goal, his second of the season, scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore! Assists to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number seventeen, Nick Bay. Time of the goal, 2:44." We head over to the bench as Doc gives me and Carey a pat on the head.

We score three more goals and London answers with only one and I manage two more assists on the night giving me my second four point game in only two games played this season. After the game, I come out and do a quick curtain call after being named the game's first star. I head back to the dressing room, shower and change into my suit. I walk out of the dressing room to see a familiar five-foot-seven form.

"You're only slightly less dominant here than you were back home." She tells me with a fond smile. She's so beautiful it's amazing; it really is. There are a lot of girls who are hot or sexy or cute or even pretty but Sasha can just look effortlessly beautiful. In a lot of ways, it's kind of Audrey Hepburn-like, her beauty. But I'm ranting on about beautiful things, a characteristic never associated with hockey players, trust me.

"It's not dominance when you've got help like I have at this level." I answer with a smirk.

"Call it what you will, you've put up eight points in two games this weekend." She replies with another of those sly, suspicious smiles that I've gotten used to over the years. You know the kind that only slightly hide her teeth and only for a second or two at that.

"You ever think that maybe you're just my good luck charm." I question flirtatiously as we move through the inner annals of the arena to where my dad's limo will be waiting at the back door again.

"You were the rookie of the year last year in spite of the fact that you only played half the season here, I think you do pretty well on your own." She playfully punches my shoulder.

"Yeah, but I figured giving you some credit would keep me out of trouble." I laugh as we walk through the back door and see the waiting limousine. I know dad's a former President and that the Secret Service finds it easier to fulfill their duties with a limo but something about it just makes me a little uneasy. I shake hands with Mr. Rabb before getting hugs from Jack, Harry and of course, my dad. We all pile into the car so that I can ride with them out to the regional airport where dad has the company jet gassed up and ready to go, I'm sure.

"You sure played well this weekend, Brad." Dad breaks the uncomfortable silence

"It's the first weekend of the season, dad." I reply. "No one has their legs yet, it's easy to look good under those circumstances."

"Still, I ran into scouts from the Washington Capitals, Boston Bruins and Detroit Red Wings that were all very impressed." Dad comments as if in passing. The biggest myth that draft eligible hockey players tell is that they don't watch their stock. Central Scouting Services, International Scouting Services, Red Line Report and McKeen's all release reports on the top draft eligible talent. Last I checked, ISS had me as the 12th ranked skater eligible for next June's Entry Draft. Sufficed to say, I'd like to at least crack the top ten by then.

The rest of the ride to the airport is filled with light small talk and whatever we can muster up to pass the time. Harry and Jack tell me about school. Jack tells me about his girlfriend and football. Harry tells me how it sucks to graduate from middle school this year. Sasha tells me what it's like to be student body President or some damn thing. She basically runs every student activity on that campus apparently. Their lives seem remarkably rich and varied. Mine is remarkably not. I go to school, I work out, I practise to play hockey and I play hockey. I normally do all these things with the same group of twelve to fourteen guys and on a pretty rigid schedule.

The car pulls on to the tarmac near the plane. It's not a busy day here, so there aren't many incoming planes and it's a small regional airport anyway. We all walk over to the plane. I shake Mr. Rabb's hand again and he boards the plane. Harry and Jack both give me a big bear hug before boarding the plane. Next up is dad. "Be good and don't give your billets any trouble." He orders with a smile on his face.

"I'll try." I reply.

"And I want to hear that you're leading the league in scoring by Christmas." He's kidding this time, but it's something I'd like to accomplish anyway.

"That might be easier than the first thing." I answer. He leans forward, wraps me in a big bear hug and boards the plane. Now it's just me and Sasha standing on the tarmac, holding up traffic. "I want to get weekly calls when you get back to Washington."

"I'll see if I can pencil you in." She flirts a little. "When are you going to be back home?"

"Well, we play three games the weekend of Canadian Thanksgiving and three the weekend of American Thanksgiving. I'm hoping to be headed to Lake Placid, New York for a week before Christmas for the training camp for the American World Junior team. So, I might get a thirty-six hour reprieve for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Then we have to head up to Philadelphia for the World Junior Championship." I just realized that I won't spend more than a few days with my family until early June. That's kind of depressing.

"Wow, so I'm not gonna see a lot of you?" She questions, suddenly those big eyes I so adore look on the verge of tears. I reach up to touch her cheek. "You know, I always wanted to know why you left to come play up here. Why you didn't just get drafted out of high school? I mean a lot of good players have played American High School hockey, why come here?"

"Scouts only know you're the best if you play against the best." I answer somewhat robotically. "I want to do this with my life, I want to be a professional hockey player. Not just because I'm good at it but because I love playing the game. This is my best shot, this year, right now. I have to do this." I take a deep breath. "Please, don't think it was easy for me to leave home and school and…" Say it, damn it, get it out, "…and all you guys." Coward.

"That's it. It's only ever been about hockey?" She sniffles a bit. "You could just get up and go?"

"Well, I come back in the summer and I'll be back around Christmas, that's pretty good." I try to joke but it falls flat. If we were back in Virginia, this would be the time when I would take a few seconds to let my eyes ogle her. She would then blush, giggle and move on to the next subject. But see this discussion is wading dangerously close to the water of "us" which is a discussion I would rather amputate my scrotum than have right now. "Come on, we'll get to spend Christmas in Philly, it'll be fun."

"The school's planning a winter dance. I know it's not the kind of thing you usually go for or like or whatever, but if you guys break camp early in Lake Placid and you get back for the 23rd of December, consider dropping by." She looks a little longingly at me as she moves to board the plane. "I get kind of tired of being a wallflower at those things, you know?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I'll try." She boards the plane and vanishes from my sight. I turn and head back to the car. There are thirteen members of the team that currently attend high schools in Kitchener, only seven of them go to school with me at Eastwood. In the ten months I've been here, I've seen guys have girlfriends and break-ups; great grades and cram sessions; and just about everything else that comes with being between the ages of fifteen and twenty. I climb back into the car and head for my billets' house. I'd love to make that dance. But knowing my schedule, I got a better chance of landing on Mars on December 23rd.


	3. The Sweden Game WJC

I was selected, for my second straight year, to the American Team for the International Ice Hockey Federation's World Under 20 Championship. We all just call it the World Junior Championships. The tournament is being held this year, like it is every year, from December 26th to January 5th. Except this year, it's in Philadelphia. Camp broke earlier today after the coach was satisfied with setting up four lines, three defensive pairings and naming our starting goaltender. So, what did I do when camp broke early? I packed up my room at camp, hopped on the first plane to National and when I got to D.C., I went home to shower, change and get ready to go to this winter dance at my former high school.

Now, right now, I'm in a cab on my way to that high school because I promised a very beautiful girl that if I could make it, I would make it. The cab pulls up and I sit in it for a few seconds watching the door to the gym. It's obvious that I'm a few minutes late. I may even be as much as an hour late but I've got a good excuse. See, I had to catch a bus from Lake Placid to Albany and then a flight from Albany to National, so I've had a pretty full day and I think the fact that I made it here at all is amazing. I throw a few bills at the cabby and climb out. I do up the two top-most buttons on my jacket and walk toward the gym doors. I can't believe I'm here; a part of me really doesn't want to be because that part has been going non-stop since training camp started at the beginning of September.

I wander around the gym getting random pats on the back from faces I vaguely remember and shaking hands with names I don't remember. See, one more thing happened before I left Lake Placid today, USA Hockey named me the Captain of this year's World Junior team, the only seventeen year-old to ever win the honour. And it was the story that led the local news tonight, so all the kids in this gym know. The crowd clears a little and I can see her through the maze of people. She's wearing this great green dress that perfectly accentuates her skin tone and drapes itself ever so slightly scandalously over her curves. The thin little straps rise over her shoulders to flatter that elegant neck.

I couldn't look anywhere near on par with her if I was given three days and a team of Hollywood stylists. I slowly strut over to her. Her back is to me. I lay my hands on her shoulders and she turns around to look up into my eyes. "I wasn't sure that you would make it." She whispers.

"I told you I'd be here if we broke camp early." I reply, giving her a big hug.

"Seven and a half hours ago, isn't exactly early." She's toying with me a little now.

"Earlier than planned." I reply. "But how late am I for this thing?"

"Two hours." She answers simply. "But I forgive you."

"Good to know." I chuckle. "How much time is left?"

"Just under an hour. But don't worry about it, I know you've got a curfew and we're all gonna be on a flight to Philly tomorrow." She's got this weird kind of glazed look in her eye that I don't quite recognize and to be honest, it's freaking me out a bit.

"How did you manage to get our families to spend the Christmas holidays together, I can imagine both my dad and yours fighting that pretty hard." I say because…well, as much as both of them get along, neither of them seem like group Christmas kind of people. Then I remember it doesn't matter if the dads aren't group Christmas kind of people, the moms are and the moms are the bosses……Wait a second, I get to spend the next two weeks in Philadelphia with Sasha in hotel rooms on the same floor. Considering what she's wearing right now, my ability to maintain self-restraint should be rewarded with a medal.

"It's very simple. I asked my mom and my mom thought it was a good idea, so long as dad gets to go to the Wall tomorrow. She talked to your mom, who also thought it was a good idea, and now we're spending two weeks in Philadelphia." She smiles at me fondly. "I don't get to see you that often, it's kind of nice to hang around with one of your friends."

I'm trying to pay attention to what she's saying, I really am but all I'm getting are these mental images in my head that involve me taking her to some far secluded part of this school, pushing her dress up around her waist, my pants down around my ankles and earning a XXX rating.

"Hey Brad, nice to see you, man." Jimmy Roberts comes over to see us with a bubbly little redhead hanging off his arm. "I heard the news on the radio on the way in, you're officially Captain America."

"I guess." I laugh nervously.

"Well congrats; make sure you take it to the Russians and the Canadians, alright?" Jimmy gives me a firm handshake.

"We'll protect the country's honour." I joke and then I feel a huge burst of air taken out of me as I'm tackled from behind. I look up from the ground and see Arleigh standing over me. He extends a hand to pick me up off the ground. "You gotta stop doing that."

"How the hell are ya?" He gives me a big hug. "What the hell am I asking? You've got 71 points in thirty-seven games with Kitchener and you just got named Captain of Team USA, I'd say you're pretty fuckin' good."

"Well, you're headed to Annapolis next year; I'd say you're in pretty good shape yourself." I give him a friendly punch to the shoulder. The old group gathers around me for a few minutes, and that few minutes turns into a few more and then a few more. Sasha and I never even dance

We're all on the plane on the way to Philly. I'm reading through the latest issue of _The Hockey News_ and listening to music. Sasha's asleep on my shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Rabb are in the seats behind us and my mom and dad are seated in front of us. It's like being uber-chaperoned. Mom glances back over the seat and smiles, because she obviously thinks this is cute. She taps my dad on the shoulder. He looks over his seat and chuckles. I feel a sudden jolt to the back of my chair that knocks Sasha's head off my shoulder and wakes her up.

"Sorry, turbulence." Mr. Rabb laughs and smiles for a second behind me and I have to raise my magazine to cover my face and hide the fact that I'm laughing too. I hear a soft tap that tells me that Mrs. Rabb just slapped Mr. Rabb across the arm.

The plane lands a few minutes later and there's a group of guys waiting for me at the terminal gate. I recognize all four of them because I play hockey with them on a regular basis and because they all made the American World Junior team with me. Carey Moore, Nolan White and Spencer Kraft all play alongside me with the Kitchener Rangers and Peter Ashby played on my line in High School and his Erie Otters play in my division in OHL.

"You duck out for fourteen hours the day before Christmas Eve without so much as a phone call?" Ashby taunts me before he gives me a hug. "I see you brought your own cheering section by the way."

"They're a small but determined group." I chuckle. Sasha steps forward and gives Peter a quick hug. Jack moves up and punches him in the shoulder. "As for everyone else, meet Nolan White," I point to Nolan who looks like he can't believe he's meeting my dad the President, "Carey Moore," Carey nods at my parents, " and Spencer Kraft." Spencer politely steps up to shake my parents' hands.

"When does Tim's plane get in?" Peter asks my dad.

"Should be any time now." My dad answers fondly. There really is no doubting that Jack, Tim and I are fraternal triplets. Jack's six-foot-four, I'm six-foot-three and Tim is maybe five-foot-eleven. Jack and I both look like athletes, Tim's pretty lanky. But you could put Jack's IQ on top of mine and the number still probably wouldn't be as high as Tim's.

The flight from Logan to Philly was due in about twenty minutes after ours. So the ever-expanding group of us sat and waited for a few minutes for Tim before departing for the Hyatt Regency hotel. Now, while this might seem like _Philadelphia Vacation_ to some, remember that I've got to spend the next two weeks with Team USA, so the amount of time I will spend with my family in friends will be kept to a minimum. When we get to the hotel, I find out that the floor that the team is staying on is actually right below the one that my family and the Rabbs will be staying on.

"You're bunking with me and Ashby." Carey guides me toward the room. "We got Sweden the day after Christmas and they're gonna be comin' at us with all we can handle, you know that?"

"I know, the coach thought up a shutdown pairing to take care of Hedlund?" I ask as we push open the hotel door.

"He's thinking Schaefer and Sterling for defence against Sweden's big line, but he wants you, me and Carey playing against them up front." Ashby plops himself down on his bed. "We got two days to prepare."

It's the first game of the tournament for us. We've got the late game in Pool B today as the Finns and Czechs squared off earlier and the Czechs took the boots to the Finns in a 4-1 game. We've got the Danes tomorrow, the Finns the day after and then we have a one day break before we wrap up the round robin against the Czechs. Today though, we've got the Swedes and they're the heavy favourites. The Swedes top line is Magnus Hedlund who was last year's second overall pick to the Montreal Canadiens; Team Captain Viktor Grendberg who was a seventeenth overall pick to San Jose and Mattias Sundstrom who's last year's second round pick of the Vancouver Canucks. None of the players on our top line have been drafted to the NHL yet but all are highly touted prospects for this year's draft.

Playing defence for us, we've got big Marty Schaefer who went in the first round to Boston last year and is an Alternate Captain with the Peterborough Petes in the OHL. And we've got Devin Sterling who plays with the University of Minnesota. Grendberg and I go helmet to helmet on the wing, waiting for the face-off. I'm 6'6" on skates and Grendberg is 6'4", we're both Captains and neither one of us is going to back off in this game. Ashby wins the face-off and draws the puck back to big Marty Schaefer. Marty handles the puck for a second before flipping the puck up to Carey. Carey's got great speed and he's using it to fly up the left wing until a Swedish defenseman strips him of the puck.

The Swedish defenseman sends a twenty foot pass across over to Grendberg. The big Swedish Captain picks up his pace as he cruises up ice. After Carey got stripped of the puck, I turned around to back-check. I see Grendberg coming down the ice with his head down so I play him slow, like a predator waiting in the tall grass. Grendberg moves to cut into the centre of the ice and I step up and bury my shoulder in the middle of his chest, knocking him to the ice. I scoop up the puck and fire a ten foot pass up to Ashby who starts another rush toward the Swedish net.

Ashby slides a quick pass across to Carey. Carey pump fakes a shot and tries to streak around a Swedish defenseman who keeps him to the outside. He knows that the Swede is going to prevent him from getting a clear and strong shot on net so he looks back over his right shoulder and flips the pass to me. He knows that the Swede is going to set up like a screen in front of the net. I take two long strides, tee up a slap-shot and send a rocket on net. The puck sneaks just under the crossbar and into the net behind the Swedish goalie. 1-0 for Team USA. The 6,000 American fans in the crowd are on their feet and my line-mates mob me and pat my head as we head back to the bench. The American team is comparatively close. I played with most of these guys in the National Team Development Program but to compete in this atmosphere is a real thrill.

"Nice pick up, Cap'." Carey pats me on the back as we sit on the bench.

"That was a hell of a pass, man. I'll have to return the favour." I chuckle as we watch the replay on the jumbo-tron dangling over centre ice. We go through the rest of the first period trying to ride the high of getting the first goal until the Swedes reply with four seconds left in the period. It was a good period from both sides but the coach wants us to play a tougher game. He wants guys like me and Carey and Nolan White and Marty Schaefer to take the body to the Swedes and try to get them to back off. You force the Swedes to take their shots on goal from outside and our goalie has a better chance of stopping them.

Carey, Ashby and I start the second period on the bench as coach sends out our best shutdown line against the Swedes' top line. Our shutdown line is a bunch of American hockey players from the NCAA. They're good players, they skate well enough and they'd be serviceable playing with us in the O, but they're not superstars. After about fifty seconds, they head for the bench and my line hops over the boards for the first change of the period. Coach sends us over the boards for a total of about eight minutes per period. With two minutes left in the period, something in the air changes when we go over the boards. This 1-1 game has gone on too long. It's time for some old-time hockey. I grab the puck from Hedlund and go bursting up into the neutral zone. Only one of my team-mates is with me and that's Carey Moore.

I sail into the Swedish zone, my USA jersey billowing at my side. I fake the shot, Carey knows what I'm going to do and he heads for the front of the net. I move to skate around behind the net but as I come around behind the net, I flip the puck up into the air and over the net. Carey watches it come down toward him and just as the puck is about to hit the ice, he swings at it with his stick, batting it into the net behind the Swedish goalie.

I skate over and give Carey a pat on the back, he's the reason that Team USA is now ahead of the Swedes. We've practised that play in practice a few dozen times but we never get it just right. The fact that we got it right in a game is nothing short of outstanding. We head over to the bench to be congratulated by our team-mates. The hardest thing to do in hockey is play with the lead. If you're losing, you just let your natural competitive edge take over and you'll skate like a demon. If you're winning, you have to try really hard not to coast, and if the team looks like they're about to coast, then your coach and your Captain has to kick their ass.

We hold the one goal lead until the end of the second period when we head to the dressing room. I pull my helmet off and run my hand through a mop of sweat-drenched hair. "Good period, guys." I huff and look around the room. We've had the hell beaten out of us in what is expected to be the closest game of the round robin for us. "We've got them down on the floor and we've got our foot on their throat. Make no mistake, when we head out there for the last twenty minutes of this game, they're gonna thrash and gulp for air to try and maintain some kind of breathing room in this tournament. You cannot give them any. You've got to cut off their air, you cannot let them get their game going, we're gonna win and this is the only way how to do it." I look around the room and see a bunch of nodding heads. For the rest of the intermission the guys do random things while coach speaks to them. They'll tighten their skates or adjust their elbow pads or something.

The buzzer goes off in the rink and we line up to head back out to the bench. The rest of the team sits on the bench but coach sends my line out on to the ice. "Remember what you said, it's easy to put your foot on their throat but it's a whole other business to cut off the air. Cut off the air." Coach taps my helmet and points me to my position for the opening face-off. Ashby loses the draw to Hedlund and the puck is drawn back toward the Swedish defence.

The first shift passes pretty uneventfully with a lot of neutral zone action. We climb back over the boards on to the bench for about fifty seconds between shifts. About halfway through the period, the Swedes get a power-play when one of our defensemen, Cam Cross, takes a boarding penalty. We've got to withstand constant pressure now for the next two minutes. Ashby loses another draw and the puck goes back to the point for Sweden. One Swedish defenseman fakes the shot before passing it off to his defensive partner. The Swedes cycle the puck around the top of the zone for a few seconds trying to get a good shot off with enough bodies in front of the net that the puck might bank in.

We've set up in a diamond pattern to prevent cycling down low. The puck moves over to the right defenseman to winds up a shot and I'm about a step behind the play. I can only think of one thing to do. I dive feet first to block the slap-shot. The puck hits my shin guards at full force and ricochets back down the ice. I'll limp back to the bench for a line change but in a few seconds, I'll be ready to go again. We successfully kill off the penalty and we're back to full strength but trying to get the puck in behind the Swedish defence this period has proved a near impossible task.

There's five minutes left in the period and I've got the puck heading into the neutral zone. I see Carey ready to streak up ice on the left hand side and I lob a pass up to him. He takes it and tries to head in around the Swedish defence when one of the defensemen pulls his feet out from under him. The referee's hand goes up to indicate a penalty. The Swede gets two minutes for tripping and we go to the power-play. Ashby wins the draw and sends the puck back to Spencer Kraft on right defence. Spencer plays with the puck for a second before sailing a pass over to his defensive partner, Marty Schaefer. Schaefer fakes a shot before sending the pass back over to Spencer. Spencer sends a one-touch pass down to me at the half-boards. I handle the puck for a few seconds, manoeuvring and spinning with it in an attempt to shake my defensive cover. I fake a pass back to Spencer that the Swede, Sundstrom, seems to be tricked by and make a rush toward the corner of the net. I look over my left shoulder and see Marty Schaefer creeping in from the point. I flip a pass through the crowd in front of the net over to Marty who tees up a slap-shot and burns one into the back of the net. 3-1 USA. Marty slides on his knee pads to celebrate his goal, hamming it up for the crowd. His line-mates, including myself all mob him to celebrate before heading back to the bench to join the team.

The last three minutes of the game are played with slightly less intensity but our goaltender, Kevin MacMillan, makes some excellent saves in our end. The game ends with us winning 3-1. The two teams line up on the blue-lines at the end of the game for the player of the game presentations. The Swedes go first because they lost and Magnus Hedlund is named player of the game for Sweden. He shakes the hand of the head of USA Hockey who presents him with the award. It comes time to name the player of the game for Team USA and the announcer calls out Carey's name. That's a great pick. Carey got an assist on my goal, he scored the game winner _and_ he drew the penalty that gave us the power-play that enabled us to lock up the game. Carey shakes the hand of the head of USA Hockey and Magnus Hedlund before heading back to join Team USA on the blue-line. We stand there watching our flag be raised to the rafter and as is tradition, sing along at the top of our lungs as our national anthem is played. One game down, five to go.

We return to the hotel like Napoleon parading down the Champs Elysees. The hotel staff applauds us as we enter the front door. Busboys are patting all the guys on the back as we head for the elevator. I veer off to speak with my family for the first time since last night. "Hell of a game today, son." My dad congratulates me.

"Thanks, pop." I grin, I'm a little tired but I'll try to keep my mood up.

"So, you've got the Danes and the Finns over the next two days, think you can take them?" Jack challenges me.

"I like to think so. By the way, Timmy," I turn to taunt my brother, "one of the guys on the team plays hockey for Yale and he says that he can't wait to haze you and the other members of the rookie class next year." I chuckle, but Tim's not amused. I laugh again. "Hey, Sash, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yeah." She nods and heads over to speak with me in a separate elevator on our way up to the room. The doors to the elevator close and I pull the emergency switch. "You're not gonna go all porno scene on me now are you?" She jokes. Like I needed that, I can't think about sex right now.

"No, one of the guys on the team plays hockey for Harvard. His dad went to school with someone who's currently on the admissions board at Harvard. Anyway, I had him look into it and, now promise not to scream, you're about to receive early acceptance to the Pre-Med program at Harvard University. Congrats." I smile and give her a hug. This is a hell of a year for the group. Arleigh's going to Annapolis, he's got the grades and he's an All-American full back with three Virginia state championships; Tim got early acceptance from Yale for three reasons: first Timmy's got really good grades, second Timmy's a pretty decent hockey player in his own right and Yale wants to stay competitive, and third, it looks good for them to admit the son of a popular former President. And now, Sasha's gotten into Harvard. Really, it's only me and Jack that have no idea what we're going to do next year. In their preliminary rankings, NHL Central Scouting had me listed as the third ranked skater in the Ontario Hockey League, so I'm guessing I'll be drafted in June but I have no idea by whom. Jack has always wanted to go to Annapolis but both Boston College and Penn State have offered him full rides to play football because Jack's been a first team all-American quarterback the last two years and has two Virginia state championships. One thing's for damn sure, the world's gonna be a much different place for us by the end of June.


	4. The Czech Republic Game WJC

So far, they've done it. I don't try to understand why things happen in hockey a lot of the time, I just kind of follow it on a very shallow level. Two days ago, the Americans beat Denmark 10-1. Brad had four goals and four assists in that game. They played the Finns yesterday and won 5-2. Brad had a goal and an assist. Through three games in this tournament, he has six goals and seven assists for thirteen points. I mention this because getting time with him over the last few days has been like getting an audience with the Pope. He practices and works out with the team for three hours every morning and then does thirty minutes with the press and signs autographs. After the press, he usually spends up to two hours with NHL Scouts so that they can assess his personality.

I came here to spend time with my friend and instead, he seems to be spending time with everyone in the City of Philadelphia but me. Add to that, the fact that the hot water in my hotel room isn't working today so, I spoke with Peter Ashby who said it was fine if I used the shower in his and Brad's room, which is what I'm doing right now. I get out of the shower and walk out in to the room with one towel covering my body and another over my hair. Peter's standing watch outside the door so no one walks in. I hear the lock on the door click. Well at least he _was_ standing watch.

Brad walks into the room and it's easy to tell by looking at his posture that his mind is elsewhere. He looks up at me and grins maniacally. He moves over toward me and I don't know what the hell to do. "Now this is a very interesting situation we find ourselves in." He sounds like the big bad wolf licking his chops at Red Riding Hood.

"Brad…" I warn.

"A little sliver of towel holding things together." He goes to reach forward and I jump away. "Oh, a game of chase, sounds like fun." He moves toward me, catches me and starts to tickle me. I get away, just barely holding my towel up. He starts after me again in this playful pursuit and I start out the door into the hallway. He chases me toward the stairwell and up the stairs to the floor where my room is located. We're still running and I know he's going easy on me because he probably could have caught me eight times by now. I dash down the hall and laugh when I pass my dad who's just coming out of his room. I hear Brad stop jogging behind me. "Hi, Mr. Rabb." He says nervously.

"Brad." My dad eyes him suspiciously as I peak through the door.

"Mr. Rabb, this isn't what it looks like. See, Sasha was showering downstairs in my room and…See, I realize how that sounds but really what I meant to say was that I saw her in a towel and…you know what? I'm just going to leave now." Brad heads back toward the staircase. I have to laugh, that poor guy just can't catch a break off the ice. Wait a second…I was in a towel in Brad's hotel room, he kept trying to take it off me and I ran away? What the hell is wrong with me?!

I slump down against the floor. Am I ever going to get it right with this man? Are we doomed to keep running in circles? I look up at the clock on the wall. It's currently just before dinner according to the clock. I get dressed and lightly dry my hair before heading downstairs to the little bistro for dinner. I see Brad's team-mate from Kitchener and Team USA, Nolan White, sitting at the bar with an older man. I recognize him as the Philadelphia Flyers scout from the Erie Game in Kitchener at the beginning of the year. I can overhear their conversation at the bar.

"Nolan," I hear the scout say, "you brag about Ross an awful lot but what can you tell me about his personality?"

"He's a great guy. Total team player, coach assigned me as his mentor when he got to Kitchener last season. The kids in Kitchener love him, he signs autographs, goes around to the hospitals to talk with the kids even volunteers at some hockey practices during the week if he gets the time. Our Junior coach likes him because he stands up for his team-mates and doesn't complain. The guys in the Team USA dressing room love him because he's unselfish with the puck and he knows how to get them riled up in the dressing room." That's a pretty glowing review. I remember Brad telling me about Nolan once. He said he was the strong silent type. Last year, Philadelphia took him 16th Overall and right now they're using him to get a read on Brad.

"That's all good and well but I want to know what he's like as a teenager." The scout says plainly.

"Are you asking me about whether he plays with the ranch hands?" Nolan replies bluntly.

"Ranch hands?" The scout questions.

"It's a play off the Ranger team nickname, it's what we call the puck bunnies." Nolan explains. The scout nods for him to continue. "Listen, there's a lot of them, maybe twenty or twenty-five around after a game, even more at school or something. I know most of the guys like Spencer or Carey or hell, even me, have taken advantage of certain opportunities presented to us. I don't know that I can say the same thing about Brad."

"But you can't rule it out." The scout persists.

"Listen Bobby, the kid was sixteen last year when he put up sixty-six points in thirty-four games with the team not including playoffs. Is it outside the realm of possibility that in a city of which the Rangers are the beating heart that a sixteen year-old took a few girls up on some offers of sex? Hell no. Do I know for sure that he did or didn't? No. And if you want to know so badly, ask him." Nolan gets up angrily from the bar and heads for the exit from the bistro.

I never thought of that. I always assumed that Brad was the same guy he was when he left. But I mean, Major Junior hockey in Canada and high school football or even College football in the States is the same kind of sports atmosphere with the same kind of amenities. Why wouldn't the girls have thrown themselves at Brad? He's tall, he's good looking, he's talented as hell and he'll probably be a superstar in two or three years. And who's to say he didn't indulge a few urges? Suddenly my insecurities and doubts ravage my mind and I no longer have much of an appetite. I run into Nolan again at the elevator as we're both waiting for the thing to hit the lobby floor. "Sasha, right?" He questions.

"Yeah, and you're Nolan." I answer, shaking his hand.

"Is it raining outside?" He asks indicating my hair.

"No, I just got out of the shower not to long ago." I answer with a slight laugh.

"Oh. Well, how are you enjoying the tournament so far?" He asks, trying to maintain the small talk.

"It's fine, actually the hockey games are pretty good and it's kind of interesting to walk through an arena and hear four or five different languages being spoken at one time." I can't shake some things from my mind. "Would be nice to get to hang out with Brad a bit more."

"Yeah, he's normally in a lot of demand at these kinds of tournaments." Nolan answers, staring straight forward at the elevator door. "But if we win tomorrow, we get a by through to the semi-finals which means that he'll get three days off including New Year's day, so that's a bonus."

"A day off for you guys is basically a light skate in the morning and only one hour in the gym in the afternoon isn't it?" I question somewhat sarcastically.

"Yeah, that's basically it." He replies with a chuckle. Nolan seems like a pretty good guy. He's about six-foot-four, with a mop of straw blonde hair and a persistent goofy expression on his face. But he's a genuinely nice enough guy.

"How important is this tournament to, you know, draft status in June?" I ask tepidly awaiting an answer.

"Last year, when I got to this tournament, I was the eleventh ranked OHL skater according to NHL Central Scouting. I was projected as an early second rounder and Team USA took eight kinds of flack for inviting me but I pushed myself and pushed myself. I finished the tournament with one goal and three assists in seven games. It was a golf shot for me. Central Scouting ranked me as the twenty-first overall North American skater and the Philadelphia Flyers took me at sixteenth overall." He takes a deep breath. "This tournament is a game-breaker for a draft eligible kid. The fact that Brad could be the first prospect to _ever_ get twenty points in it is driving scouts nuts; it's no wonder why he's focused."

"I didn't realize it was so…intense." I say hesitantly.

"He's the Captain, he's the guy we all lean on, who we know can handle the brunt of the load without complaining and the one guy we all know will walk through fire to get us to the gold medal game." Nolan answers. "Now, can I ask a question?"

"Sure." I nod at him.

"What the hell is with you two?" Nolan laughs. "Carey, Spencer and I all have a bet on what the real story is. Carey thinks you and Brad dated for a while, broke up and want to get back together but aren't going to. Spencer's buying the official party line that you two are only friends, but he also thinks that you both secretly want to fuck each other's brains out."

"And you?" I question curiously.

"I think you two are friends, but I think you slept together a few days before he left to come to Kitchener last year and neither of you know how to deal with it. See, a quick internet check tells me that you both would have been under the age of consent in the state of Virginia, which means there's no legal reason not to. But he would have been very young for a first timer and you would have been even younger so now you're walking around like the eggs under your feet might crack. Which is really funny considering the two of you have already made an omelette." The elevator doors open and Nolan steps out. The shadow darkens over my face as the elevator doors close again.

Am I that obvious? If I am, why the hell doesn't Brad see it? He can't be wrapped up in the games that tightly can he? At least the consensus seems to be that he has some feelings for me to. I just can't see them, which isn't exactly helpful. Team USA plays the Czech Republic tomorrow afternoon and with a win they can clinch a birth in the semi-finals and guarantee the right to play for a medal. I guess I can let him think of that tonight.

Sitting here watching the Czech Republic game against the US, I find it hard to concentrate. If I didn't I'm sure I'd be able to tell you in depth detail about the fact that Brad has had to skate through two-man coverage all day and as such has been unable to set up plays or score goals. I'm sure I'd also be able to tell you about the amount of joy my parents expressed when my acceptance letter to Harvard had been forwarded from the house in Virginia to the hotel. But I just can't shake the conversation I had with Nolan yesterday. Brad's getting frustrated out on the ice and you can tell. There's a Czech winger and defenseman practically glued to him the whole time. The winger steals the puck from him and Brad lays a two-handed slash across his ankle and the winger falls to the ice. The referee calls a penalty and Brad heads to the box for two minutes. He throws his stick against the back of the penalty box on his way in.

He never takes frustration well. He sits there for two minutes watching the team perform. The penalty kill is Peter Ashby's time to shine on the ice for Team USA. He can win face-offs and control the draw. He can keep the puck on a string with the way he stickhandles and he can clear the puck very well. He doesn't play like Brad does because he doesn't have the size to. Peter plays finesse, Brad plays force but the scouts keep a keen eye on both. After two minutes, Brad comes out of the penalty box and Peter hits him with an outlet pass. Two Czech players trap him along the boards and Brad looks for another passing option. He hits Carey Moore travelling up ice and Carey takes the puck into the Czech zone. He drops a pass back for Schaefer who handles the puck for a second before lobbing a pass down low to Peter Ashby who fires a wrist shot into the net.

Team USA leads the Czechs 2-1 at the end of the first period and Brad hasn't put up a point yet tonight. I look up at the TV in this private luxury box we're in to see ESPN interviewing Brad in between periods. He looks so good up there on the screen that I subconsciously bite my lip. He looks kind of rugged but wide-eyed, it's a great contrast. He's got his helmet off and the sweat is just pouring off of him. "Brad, that was a pretty tough period for you out there, it looks as if the Czechs have got you shutdown pretty good." The interviewer questioned.

"Yeah, I really had a bad period out there and took a stupid penalty but you know, the team stepped up really well, the guys are playing a great game and that's why we're ahead by a goal right now." He wipes the sweat off the tip of his nose.

"Still you've got to be happy about your tournament so far, 13 points in three games; you've got to be pretty pleased with your play so far." The interviewer presses.

"It comes pretty easy when you're surrounded the talent that I've been surrounded with this week." Brad answers before heading into the dressing room. I walk out of the row of private boxes toward the corners of the rink. The scouts love the corners; they think it gives them the best view of the players as it pertains to skating strength and playmaking abilities.

"It looks like Ross is having some problems shaking coverage." I hear one scout say.

"He's doing a sniper's job; he's pulling men off his team-mates and they're responding. They're winning the game after all." I hear another scout say.

"Yeah, but they don't have the same jump without their Captain." The first scout retorts. "Ashby really saved them on that penalty kill."

"He's a medium sized slick centre. He needs to bulk up a bit or he'll get pushed around in the NHL. Ross can charge like a bull if he gets the puck on his stick." The second scout defends. The second scout has a small Boston Bruins logo on his tie-clip that would be indistinguishable were I not standing ten feet from him. The other scout has a Phoenix Coyotes pen in his breast pocket. It really wouldn't be the worst thing for Brad to be shunned by Phoenix, that's kind of far from Harvard, er……far from home I mean. Anyway, the Flyers are the ones that the whole hockey world knows are hot for Brad and after that, it's the Washington Capitals and New York Rangers.

I grab a hot dog from the vendor and head back up to my seat for the second period. Within a few seconds, it becomes fairly evident what Brad's plan is on the ice for this period. He's just going to skate their legs off. He's going to take double length shifts, short legs on the bench and single-handedly wear down forty percent of the Czech team. It's a strategy that any other hockey coach would recognize in a few seconds, but the Czech coach is target fixated (a phrase I picked up from dad) and he just wants to shutdown Brad, and hope that the rest of his team gets lucky with their offence.

About halfway through the period, it becomes obvious that the Czech defender that has been matched up against Brad all afternoon is feeling the strain of it and Brad's basically become Team USA's best outlet passer and pressure valve to relieve defensive pressure. After Peter Ashby puts up his third point of the evening, it becomes obvious that the Czechs can't contain the American attack. The Americans head to the second intermission ahead 4-1. I look up at the television screen showing the same interviewer standing with Peter Ashby this time. The straw blonde hair of Peter Ashby is even more soaked than Brad's was in the first intermission.

"Peter, it looks like the legs are starting to pick up for you guys out there, are you doing anything different this period than last?" The interviewer asks.

"No, the team's just doing a lot better job creating space to get the creativity working with the puck. It all starts with the Cap' though, he's been working through double coverage most of the day and it's opening up the ice for us." Peter fiddles with the cage of his helmet.

"You've got a goal and two assists, that's a pretty good game you've got going so far." The interviewer's trying to get Peter to bask in the spotlight a bit.

"Yeah, you know, you just go out there and go for the net and hope the bounces go your way." Peter clears his throat. I got a good pass from Nolan White on the second goal and I got a good pass to him on the third goal so karma runs two ways."

"Thanks for your time, Peter." The interviewer gives him a pat on the shoulder pad.

"Yeah, any time." Peter heads back toward the dressing room. I'm sitting here in my seat on New Year's Eve watching a hockey game that the U.S. is going to win and all I'm thinking is why am I here? I mean, I imagine the hotel is going to do something pretty big for Team USA tonight, even though their curfew is only ten minutes after midnight. I head for the exit to the arena. I know it sucks to walk out early, but I've watched enough hockey games to know that Team USA has this one in the bag and that they'll get their three days off before tackling either Russia or the Czech Republic in a semi-final game.

I head for the door and toward the car. It's a short drive back up to the hotel so I don't mind but the radio's giving constant updates on the game and I can hear as the Team USA's lead climbs to 6-1 over the Czech Republic with Peter adding two more goals, giving him five points on the day. Brad is still without a single point in the game.

When I get to the hotel I find out that the hotel plans on holding a black tie reception in conjunction with the Philadelphia Flyers tonight to celebrate New Years. Brad'll love that; I won't be able to pry him away from big Flyers like Richards or Downie all night. I heard up to my room and jump in the shower again. This is a suit and tie kind of even for the guys, which means I'm going to have to wear a dress and actually look good. I know it may sound presumptuous but Brad drags me to these things all the time and spends most of the night just telling me how good I look so he won't be in trouble when he inevitably wanders off to speak with high profile athletes or top USA Hockey people.

I step out of the shower and dry off. It takes a long time for me to get ready, I'll admit it, but getting my hair dried and styled is a priority and I'll let it set and watch some TV in my bathrobe before putting on my dress. There's a knock at my door and I go to open it. "Hey." It's Brad with a big smile on his face and his suit on. It's almost two hours until this gala thing downstairs in the ballroom. "I heard you headed home early. I hope it wasn't on my account."

"Nah, just feeling a little tired after not getting a whole lot of sleep last night." I yawn a little. He's staring at my cleavage because the neck of this bathrobe dips down a little low. "Yes Brad, those are my breasts but my eyes are up here." I lift his chin. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, there's some kind of gala thing downstairs tonight, I wanted to know if you wanted to go along with me?" He chances, still not meeting my eyes but at least now he's looking down at the floor.

"I think I can squeeze you into my schedule." I giggle a little and I'm sure I'll kick my own butt for doing that in a few minutes.

"Well, good, I'll be by in about an hour or so to come get you, huh?" He smiles very small.

"Okay." I nod and he backs slowly away from the door. Typical metaphor for the whole situation, Brad backing slowly away. I close the door and collapse on the bed. This mess is just screwed up. Why can't I be like most other girls my age and just give up on the oblivious guy and move on to the ones I know want me? Maybe it's like when you're young and playing in the sandbox and you always want the toy that you can't play with. I'm watching television and trying to either work out a mental game plan for tonight or just block Brad out all together, I'm not sure yet. There's another knock on my door. "I'm still getting dressed Brad!" I shout.

"It's mom!" My mom replies through the door. My eyes go wide for a second and I hop out of bed and head for the door. I open it wide.

"Hi, mom." I clear my throat. "Sorry, you know, about the whole mistaking you for Brad thing."

"Yeah, I have to say that doesn't happen a lot." Mom laughs as she steps into the hotel room. "Though I had to talk your father down off the wall after Brad chased you upstairs with you wearing only a towel."

"Yeah, about that…" I try to explain but she hushes me.

"I know. I know that you've got feelings for Brad. I talked your father into this Christmas vacation because a part of me figured that you two would have time to get things right. But he's playing hockey all the time, and me and your dad are taking your brothers to all the historical sites so I feel like I haven't been there to help you through this like I should." She puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Mom, it's not your problem, I've got to work this out on my own." I answer, trying not to sound frustrated with myself.

"You're been trying. I mean, it should be evident to most blind mammals that you're head over the heels for the boy. But you keep running into the fact that you're not his number one priority right now, especially since you, me, your father and just about everyone in the known universe including most of _his_ family thinks you should be up there." Mom sighs. "But that's an emotional response. As your father explained to me when we had this conversation last night. When a guy is focused on something, like your father was on flying or Brad is with hockey, other things get pushed off to the side."

"So, he's not doing it on purpose, he's just doing it because he's a guy and guys are…" I'm starting to comprehend.

"Dumber than doornails, yeah." Mom nods. "Your hair looks nice, are you going to the thing downstairs tonight?"

"Yeah, I got invited by the Captain of Team USA." I giggle and my mom rolls her eyes.

"Listen, you'd got to play a little harder to get okay." My mom advises. "Show him that he's got to work for you and that he can't just take your for granted. It's okay to be angry with him if he does something that angers you. In fact, I'd actively encourage it. Some people will tell you that you don't want to be in his head right now, that he's got a lot to think about this week. If your goal is to be on his mind, than what have you got to lose. Understand I'm not saying that you go looking for a fight, but you've got a set of interests you shouldn't compromise." My mom gets up off the bed. "But what the heck do I know, right? Your father and I practically had to be thrashed about the head to get our acts together." She heads for the door and shuts it behind her.

I head over to the closet looking for my dress. It's a nice dress. It was the one I wore to the winter dance a few weeks back. It's really the only one I've got that I like. I don't go out a lot. I put the dress on and take a quick look in the mirror. I think I look good but I guess I'll know soon enough. There's a risk to going anywhere with Brad for me and that is that photographers like to take his picture. Which means that it's quite possible that the next time I go to the supermarket, I could read that I'm pregnant, about to get married, about to get divorced or cheating on a guy who's not really my boyfriend. I hear another tap on the door and I go to answer it. It's just about time to head downstairs.

I open the door and there he stands in a dark and extremely well tailored Armani suit and a great blue shirt. I bite my lower lip as I look him up and down from head to toe. I don't feel guilty because I know he's doing the same thing with me. There's so much heat between us right now that I'm honestly a little worried the carpet catches fire. He extends his arm and I latch on to it. "You…look…" He just shakes his head and smiles.

"Back at you." I laugh lightly as we move to the elevator. He's trying really hard not to stare. So much so that I have to give him credit because he seems to be making an effort to look everywhere else but at what he really wants to look at. We step on to the elevator and the doors close.

"Listen, I know we haven't really spent…well, really any time together and that sucks because I only get to see you maybe once during the course of the OHL season…" I interrupt him.

"Not even once last year. You left for the World Juniors at the beginning of December; I didn't see you again until May." I point out.

"This is what I'm talking about." He grins and puts his hands on my shoulders. It sends a shiver down my spine. "I know that between hockey, scouts, the press, the fans and the gym that I haven't spent as much or really any time with you and I'm glad that we at least get tonight." He gives me a big hug and while the cynical part of the thinks it's just his way of getting his hands on me, my softer side all of a sudden likes the fact that he's so tall and strong. The elevator hits the bottom floor and we walk across the lobby into the ballroom and into the gathering. Right away, everyone moves to speak with him. NHL players and people from USA Hockey will gather around and talk with him.

The night passes slowly, which is good. We talk and dance and he'll whisper in my ear when he thinks the music is too loud. He's always got one arm on me, either interlocked with one of mine or wrapped around my waist. During _I Only Have Eyes for You_, our eyes lock and hold each other as everything seems to slow down around us. I lay my cheek against his chest and I can hear his heart just pound in his chest as though he's trying to keep pace with a hyper marching band. It's 11:51pm and I look him in the eye. "Let's go upstairs, I'm feeling a little tired." I whisper to him.

"But the ball's about to drop." He counters.

"Can we just go?" I press lightly and he nods and takes me back to the elevator. Within minutes we're back upstairs and watching the ball drop in his hotel room "I never got my New Year's kiss last year, you know?"

"I would have but I was in Calgary, would have been kind of tough." He replies with the characteristic wit. "Alright, come here." He pulls me into his lap on the edge of the bed. We count down the seconds together. "10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!" The whole time our lips are gravitating closer together until eventually they just brush against each other. We're both holding back. The fire's going to consume one of us in a few seconds. It's him. He puts a hand on my back and another at the crook of my neck and just goes for it. Most guys would seem to over-anxious and while it's like we've spontaneously combusted, he's still slow and methodical. Until the door opens and I leap back off of him.

"Whoa! Not interrupting I hope." It's Carey and Ashby following their curfew to the letter.

"No, we were just saying goodnight." Brad covers, dusting off the front of his suit. Carey and Ashby head further into the room and Brad walks me out into the hall. He touches my arm. "Happy new year."

"Happy new year." I reply with a fast smile and he disappears back into his hotel room.


	5. The Russia Game WJC

I didn't know there were female hockey players, but I'll accept this as more proof that I don't know everything. The day after Team USA made the semi-finals, USA Hockey decided that they wanted new ads trying to get more kids registered across the country. Every team that was going to play in the medal round scheduled gruelling practices for New Year's Day, which meant that Brad was unavailable until 5pm yesterday, at which point we went to dinner. We were interrupted in the middle of dinner by Carey Moore, Peter Ashby and Spencer Kraft who joined us and monopolized the conversation at the table. Now today, USA Hockey is filming its new television marketing ads with Brad in his Team USA blues and young female hockey superstar Samantha DiDiomete in her Team USA whites. Together they look like the Superman and Wonder Woman of American hockey and it all makes me feel a little sick.

I ought to feel good about it. Samantha DiDiomete is 19, an Olympic silver medallist, a Women's World Hockey Championship gold medallist and a Women's World Junior Championship gold medallist. She's an inspiration to young girls who love hockey but think it's a boys' domain where they don't belong. But she's way too close to Brad for my liking. She may be another in a long list of female hockey pioneers but she's tall, blonde, athletic and stunning and after spending the last few days on uneasy footing with Brad, my jealousy has kicked into overdrive.

What's even more irritating is how good they are together. The first part of the ad involves her coming in on him, pulling a move to get around him and firing a goal into the empty net. The next part of the ad involved Brad powering past her and firing a goal into the empty net at the other end of the ice. The third part of the ad involves the two of them standing at centre ice trying to stare each other down. But they can't do it without breaking into laughs. The first take, she sticks her tongue out at him and he starts chuckling and skates away for a second to gather himself up for the next take.

This time he makes a snarling face at her and she breaks into a giggle fit. She's got more than two years on him and she's an Olympian and yet he manages to turn her into a giggling school like he does every other woman under the age of twenty. On the third take, she reaches up with her stick and taps the front of his cup making him laugh once again. He shakes his head and has to take a few strides on his skates to collect himself again. On the fourth take, just as they think they've got the shot, Brad leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She breaks into another giggling fit, the director yells "cut!" and every one takes five minutes.

I hate it. They look good together which is what really sucks about it all. Last year the two of them were in USA Hockey's advertising campaign. Her the shining Olympian back from the 2018 Olympics, him the World Juniors silver medallist and 2020 NHL Entry Draft top prospect. The golden boy and the sexy Amazon; the ad campaign was credited for registering 15,000 new hockey players (4,500 of them girls) in the last year. They stand there talking to each other as the crews adjust the cameras and microphones for another go at the head-to-head shot at centre ice. I don't know what Brad is saying to her but she's laughing and playfully punching him in the shoulder an awful lot. They do the final take of the centre ice scene before doing the last scene of the two of them speaking into the camera.

This is USA Hockey's dream scenario; the two of them getting romantically involved. It tells boys that hot girls love a hockey player (which is true). It tells girls that it's possible to be both an athlete and feminine (something the culture refuses to believe is possible). It's also a dream scenario for their agent, Kate Henderson, who's a former Team USA Olympic gold medallist in hockey in her own right. It's a marketing bonanza for her. Both of their stocks rise overnight, their pay-outs in outside endorsement deals hit eight figures, it's great PR.

Now you know why I'm worried. They're done filming the ad. The director thanks the two of them and they skate off the ice toward the dressing rooms. "How are my two favourite clients?" Kate greets them as they step off the ice.

"Cut it out, Kate. We both know you represent NHL hockey players and they make you a lot more money." Brad grumbles with a very reserved look on his face.

"Hey, you're going to want to be very nice to me when I tell you what my source at NHL Central Scouting just told me." Kate greets Brad with a friendly peck on either cheek before extending the same greeting to Samantha.

"What's up?" Brad looks her in the eye.

"The midterm reports on the top prospects for the next NHL Entry Draft are due to be released next week once the World Juniors wrap up here. My source at Central Scouting says your stock has risen as high as being the fourth ranked North American skater and that you could get as high as second depending on how the medal round goes over the next few days." Kate peaks one eyebrow at him. "Now tell mama how much you love her."

"Kate, I don't know what I'd do without you." Brad gives her a quick hug. "Hey, you two have been properly introduced, right?" Brad indicates between me and his agent. "Kate Henderson, this is Sasha Rabb. Sasha, this is Kate." I shake Kate's hand. Samantha clears her throat behind Brad. "Oh right, Sasha Rabb this is Sam DiDiomete. Sam, this is Sasha."

"Nice to meet you." She extends her hand to me and beams a bright white smile.

"Yes, nice to meet you, too." I smile politely. The two of them head off to the same dressing room and my paranoia kicks in for a second. "Brad, I think you're headed to the wrong room."

"No, my stuff's in here." He says before checking the mark on the door.

"I thought male and female hockey players dressed in separate dressing rooms?" I question.

"Normally, that's true. But the Canadian team is doing a charity skate here with some kids from a Toronto hospital so; they needed a couple dressing rooms. And there was only two of us, so it seemed kind of stupid to take up two dressing rooms." Brad explains with a typical steady tone and cool logic.

"Besides, I've been playing this sport for fourteen years; you think he's got anything I haven't seen?" Samantha jokes as the two of them step into the dressing room. I'm not naïve; I know that hockey dressing rooms at this level have showers so that players can wash the sweat out of their hair after games. That's what has me worried. After hearing about the "ranch hands" at the Kitchener games, my jealousy started and then Samantha on the ice and now…the same dressing room…I know this sounds like nothing so, maybe I should explain.

I don't know what Brad looks like with his shirt off any more, I used to but the last time I saw him like that would have been like the summer between Grades Nine and Ten. But I know that you get naked to shower and I know that she'll be naked and he'll be what every teenage male is…which is to say, a horny idiot. So, to put it simply, I'm a little worried that the two of them screw in the shower in the dressing room. Yes, I know I sound like a jealous girlfriend and I'm not his girlfriend. Hell, I'll even admit that I'm bordering on the obsessive here and I don't like that. I don't like sounding like some horrible heroine from a Tammy Wynette medley but the last thing I needed on this vacation was competition; real or imagined.

It takes about twenty minutes or so normally to get your gear off after a game. Then eight or so minutes in the shower and a few minutes to change, I've got a half hour to kill. I sit on the bench and stare out at the ice. Back in high school, Brad and I would sit on the bench for hours before a game. We'd talk about anything and everything from the strategy of the game to Socrates and Thomas Aquinas. I could curse at him in Russian and he'd brush me off in French. I sit here and watch the guys from Team Canada do a charity skate for some terminally ill children in conjunction with the Make a Wish Foundation.

A member of Team Canada, in full battle dress as my dad calls it, comes over to the bench. "Hey, little lady, you get lost?" He asks me.

"No, I'm just waiting for a much more impressive hockey player." I reply, trying to brush him off.

"Now, slow down there, I'm Trevor Wood. You might have heard of me, number one ranked OHL skater in the preliminary draft ranking, expected to be the number one ranked North American skater in Central Scouting's midterm rankings. Two goals and five assists at this tournament. What more impressive hockey player could you be waiting for?" The guy in the red sweater and black helmet challenges.

"Let's see. First in OHL scoring at the Christmas break, first in total points at the OHL Christmas break, Alternate Captain of the Kitchener Rangers and six goals to go with seven assists in this tournament." I flash a sarcastic grin. The Team Canada coach tells me that they need the bench to let the kids rest. I move up to a seat a few rows behind the bench and continue to just stare out over the ice. After a few minutes I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and I look up to see Brad. "Hey, I think I need to ask you a few questions."

"Shoot." He takes a seat next to me.

"I know how this is going to sound, but you're going to have trust that I don't mean it that way. I'm your buddy, remember?" Those last words kind of hurt me to say but it'll shut off the part of his mind that will want to overanalyze everything.

"Hey, we've been friends since we were three, you can ask me anything." He playfully bumps my shoulder with his.

"Well, I just overheard Nolan speaking with some scout yesterday trying to get a read on your personality and they said something about 'ranch hands'. I was just wondering…"

"If I've played indulged a few cowgirl fantasies?" Brad picks up my train of thought.

"I think we're in danger of overextending the metaphor." I comment lightly.

"Twice last year." He answers honestly, his head hung and shoulders slumped. "The first time, it was like a week after I got to Kitchener. As tough as the American media can be on me the Kitchener media was tougher. My first game was a Friday night, we played Sarnia and I had a goal and two assists. We won 5-1. Sunday afternoon we played Windsor, I scored two goals and added three assists and we beat Windsor 6-5. When I got back to school Monday morning, the monkey was off my back and I was riding a pretty good wave. I was miles from home, I didn't really know anybody, I was living with strange billets that I didn't really know and when this one girl told me that I should come over and that her parents weren't going to be home, I figured what the hell."

"So, she was your first." I question and he seems a little uneasy. "She wasn't your first?"

"Well, you see, last year at the World Juniors in Calgary, USA Hockey wanted to do some promo spots so they brought out Sam and we spent a day even longer than today out on the ice. It was late when we wrapped, we went back to the dressing room. I don't know how it happened; we just ended up showering at the same time." I cut him off there.

"Brad, a man and a woman never _just end up_ showering at the same time. At least one of them makes a conscious decision and it's the one who enters the shower second." I point out.

"Well, that would be her." He answers. "It kind of happened fast, you know, well not that part…I mean; I don't know if that part happened fast or not, at least not comparatively…What I mean is that I was showering, she was showering, I checked her out then she checked me out. I don't really remember what immediately followed that but the next image I have of that evening was her pressed up against the tile wall of the shower moaning and her legs wrapped around my waist."

"Okay, I may have gotten more information there then I would have ever needed to hear in this lifetime." I force a chuckle but it's only to distract from the shock on my face. "How do you know that you don't have…I mean with diseases and pregnancy and all that…"

"Well, pregnancy's fairly easy to detect and condoms are a pretty good helper in that regard." He comments. "Besides, I got one physical when I got to Kitchener, another before the OHL season this year and _another one_ when I showed up to prep camp for Team USA halfway through December. I've been told three different times by two different doctors that I couldn't be more physically fit and healthy."

"Yeah, but I'm willing to bet that you didn't have a condom in your hockey bag last winter in Calgary." I point out, raising my voice as I get up out of my chair.

"No, you're right; I got lucky on that one." He replies calmly and coolly. "I was sixteen and I screwed up." The fact that he's admitting to some kind of fault only makes it worse because I can't take out my frustration on him. "Are you okay?"

"No, but I'll get over it." I have to. It's not like he committed a cardinal sin or anything. We weren't dating, hell we hadn't spoken in two weeks when this happened. "Why didn't you and she, I mean you're Mr. and Miss USA Hockey. You've got everything in common, she's tall and you're tall; she loves hockey and you live to play this game; and apparently the two of you have had sex, so you're physically attracted to one another, why didn't you…"

"Date?" Brad questions. "When were we going to do that? I play hockey forty hours a week, so does she. I go to high school; she goes to the University of Ohio. Yeah, we share an agent but we'd get to see each other what? Six or seven times a year, you can't maintain a relationship on that." He gets up and walks over to me on the steps. "Now, do you want to head back to the hotel or not?"

"Yeah, let's go." I nod and we head for the door.

It's the next day and I'm still not quite able to get my head around this whole new picture I have of Brad Ross. So, I'm now doing everything I can to help fill out this new picture and when the guys from Team USA came to me with the idea of pulling a prank on Brad, I couldn't sign on fast enough. The idea was to get Brad to do something stupid and I had just the idea. I gathered the team together and camped them outside Brad, Carey and Ashby's hotel room. Using a key-card, I slip into the hotel room while Brad is having a shower.

I've got to be quiet and careful about this so that he doesn't hear me coming. I slowly nudge open the bathroom door and the steam hits me in the face. I'm trying to block out images that flood my mind from last night's discussion with Brad. Just the notion of sex in the shower, the steam, the acoustics, the water and the accompanying slipperiness if that's a word. I make sure the door creaks behind me and I hear him shout over the water. "Is there anyone there?!" I start whistling and his head pops out from behind the shower curtain. "What are you doing here?" He questions and I hold up his boxers on the tip of my right index finger. "You wouldn't!" He charges and I nod with a wicked grin on my face. I gather up the remaining towels in the room along with his bathrobe.

I move out of the bathroom and he bounds out of the shower after me. He's got his hands covering his crotch as he runs which makes the sight all the more amusing. This may be the wrong time to comment on it but all that time he spends on the ice and in the gym has him more toned and ripped than I've ever seen or would have thought likely after only a year. I dash out the door and just as he's about to bound out into the hallway naked and sopping wet, he thinks twice and hides behind the open door, just poking his head around the edge. "Aha, I have the upper hand!" He dashes back into the room to look for his clothes. It'll be to no avail, the guys cleaned the drawers out in preparation for this prank. After a frantic minute, the head pokes back around the door. "Okay, seriously give me my clothes back."

"NO!" The crowd cheers at once and Brad looks annoyed.

"Come on, guys. This isn't funny." Brad tries to look stern and keep the grin from forming on his face.

"I gotta disagree, Cap'." Carey takes a picture with his phone. Brad turns his eyes to me with that pleading puppy dog look. Normally, I would melt and just give in but I'm a little annoyed with him right now. These guys want something that they can hold over his head. So, he's either gonna have to step out from behind that door or give them something else. I see him take a deep breath.

He looks at me and develops a cold stare. He licks his lips. Once again he looks like the Big Bad Wolf eyeing Little Red Riding Hood. "My God, you've got a body." He says in a voice so deep I'm not sure I recognize it. The hallway goes dead silent; you could head a pin drop or a dust bunny cough. "Wiggle that hot little ass on over here." He says and I swear to God every jaw in the hall just dropped. I can't help but move toward the door. I don't know why I am but my legs seem to have developed a mind of their own. When I'm within arm's reach, he loops an arm around my waist, hoists me up off the ground, into the hotel room and closes the door behind him.

"What the hell was that?" I demand, my hands firmly on my hips.

"Me getting my boxers back." He smiles quickly, reaches out and snatches them from my hand. Then something happens that tells me he's way too comfortable with me. His other hand drops from the part of anatomy he was attempting to hide from view and I get the full Monty. My jaw drops again and I gasp. I will soon kick myself for doing both those things. "What?" He questions, pulling his boxers up around his waist before looking back down to realize what he'd just done. "Oh crap, I'm sorry, that was well, crass I suppose."

"It was…" I'm trying to avoid words like _big_ or _huge,_ "…something."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He chuckles, pulls a sheet off one of the beds and proceeds to dry his hair.

"Speaking of compliments, what was with all the bad porno come-ons in front of the guys out in the hallway?" I saunter toward him standing in front of the bed.

"I needed to distract them and get you close enough that I could get my boxers back." He replies with a smile. "Plus I figured after that talk we had last night, you'd be thinking about sex almost as much as I have been so I just added up two and two. It came out to four and I went with my plan."

"So, that _hot little ass_ and _great body _stuff, I should just accept it as a ploy or were you being serious?" I ask tepidly.

"I guess we'll never know." He replies coyly and I head for the door. "Hey Sash!" I turn to face him. "Think you can get the rest of my clothes from the guys?"

It's finally time for the Russia game. Normally the IIHF eschews large ceremony for the medal round games and normally that's fine because the host countries don't like the expense but USA Hockey is trying to show off its program. This is a Wednesday evening USA-Russia game that's being broadcast on NBC because the television directors are on strike and there's no Bowl Game tonight. They've got the Russian and American teams entering from opposite ends of the rink, the house lights are down and there's are spotlights with colour mock ups of the Team USA logo and the Team Russia logo shining on the ice at either end.

First they read out the Russian line up and the Russian players skate out from the tunnel to their blue-line. In typical fashion, they read the players from the team who aren't starting and then they read the players who are going to be in the starting line-up. After all the Russians have lined up on the blue-line they start calling the players from Team USA. My favourite part is when they get to the starting line-up.

"Starting in goal for Team USA, wearing number thirty-five from Ohio State University, Adam Petrecki!" A short dark haired goaltender skates out from the tunnel to the Team USA blue-line. "Starting of defence for Team USA, wearing number eight from the University of Michigan, Cam Cross! Also starting on defence for Team USA, wearing number twenty-four from Denver University, Peter Nielson!" The two defensemen skate out and join the rest of their team on the blue-line. "Starting at left wing for Team USA, wearing number ninety-four from the Kitchener Rangers of the Ontario Hockey League, Carey Moore!" Carey skates out to join his team at the blue-line. "Starting at centre for Team USA, wearing number ten from the Erie Otters of the Ontario Hockey League, Peter Ashby!"

I look down and see a small collection of smoke forming along the floor of the Team USA tunnel. I look up at the TV and realize that it's a smoke machine filling the tunnel to add a little more theatre to this entrance. "And starting at right wing for Team USA, wearing number seventy-nine from Kitchener Rangers of the Ontario Hockey League, the Captain of Team USA, Bradley Ross!" Brad walks through the smoke like some mythical warrior about to enter the field of battle. He skates over to the blue-line to join his team. After the ceremony is dispensed with, the two teams send their starting lines out to take the opening face-off. The puck slaps against the ice and the game has started.

I've been told that Team Russia can be both the easiest and toughest team to dispense with in the tournament. Brad says the Russians play a one dimensional game most years, if you shutdown their offensive attack you can control the game but in order to do that, you've got to take the body to them. Some times the Russians have great goaltending which adds another element to their game but this isn't one of those years, since the Canadians beat them 7-1 in the round robin and the Russians only squeaked by the Czechs 8-6 in yesterday's quarter-final. The Americans set a bone-rattling pace early on. Carey Moore lines up the Russian player, Kurapov, and checks him over the boards and into the Team Russia bench. When Nolan White and Marty Schaefer step out on to the ice for Team USA, the pounding being laid on the Russians is taken to a whole other level. At the end of the first period, the game is still a scoreless tie but the Russians are feeling a lot of developing bruises as they head to the dressing room.

In between periods, I'm never sure what to do with myself. Today, I'm just sitting in a seat a few rows up from the Team USA bench and someone plops down next to me. "Hey, I thought I recognized you." She says, I look over and see it's Samantha DiDiomete.

"Hey." I say without any enthusiasm. "I figured you'd be schmoozing with the USA Hockey people.

"Nah, I can't stand them most of the time." She comments lightly and I just roll my eyes. I think she notices. "Did I do something to offend you?" She asks.

"No, it's just…" I answer. "It's tough to explain." I relegate my explanation to that but she's still trying to look me in the eye.

"No, it's not. Brad told you what happened last year." She chances but I'm sure my body language gives me away. "Listen, it was nothing serious."

"Yeah, so he tried to say." I comment flippantly.

"It wasn't and if it's any consolation, you're definitely getting the upgraded model this year." She laughs and I furrow my brow.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, last year he was two inches shorter, he was bean pole skinny instead of well…and he was a first timer." She starts to explain. "Now, I know that the media likes to treat him like he's some kind of Superman but do you imagine that he was really anything special his first time?"

"You're saying he was…" I'm not sure how to end that sentence.

"A mere mortal, only average, for once in his life." She chuckles. "A 5.5 out of 10." She adds for further clarification.

"Wow, really?" I can't help but smile.

"Yeah, but he was sixteen, it was a quasi-public place and I've been told I can be a little intimidating, so it's kind of understandable that he'd be nervous and would fumble around a bit. He was better the second time and he was really improved by the third time."

"Second and third times? Hold up. I was only told of one time." I reply. "Actually he only said you two had sex, he didn't say how many times."

"Listen, it was a long couple of days between the semi-final and the gold medal game last year." She's a little uncomfortable. "Every woman who gets near that man knows that he's yours on an emotional level. He just doesn't know it yet. I don't think anyone thinks there's a chance at permanency with him because it's always about you. Even last year, you were all he could talk about. I'm not a threat to you."

"Good to know." I let out a self deprecating chuckle. "So, he was nothing special, huh?"

"No, the first time he needed more guidance than a blind mouse in a maze." She says and we share a laugh. "But he's a quick study."

"Also good to know." I laugh. "Is it really that obvious that I'm in…I mean that really like him?"

"Yeah." She answers with a fond nod. "But the reason he doesn't see it is because he's got tunnel vision. Right now, he's got a bee-line focus on the Draft in June and everything in his life is toward that end. The NHL is a big time thing for the guys in Junior; they don't have the education that the NCAA guys have to fall back on so they've got to be better."

"You're saying that I could stand naked in front of him and he probably wouldn't notice unless I had a hockey puck over my belly button?" I laugh again.

"Well, I like to think he's not that stupid." She comments. "Besides, I think if that boy ever saw _you _naked, you'd understand what it would be like to be a sea-side village when the Vikings arrive."

"That's a very vivid image, thank you." I laugh and my attention drifts back to the ice as the Russians and Americans re-take the ice for the second period. It's good to have Sam here to explain some of the things I don't understand about this game. Brad's line goes right out against the top Russian line of Kurapov, Ropatov and Fedoreyev. The puck drops and Team USA resumes the physical beating that they laid on the Russians in the first period. Ropatov gets the puck and tries to cut across the middle of the ice but Brad takes two strides, drops his shoulder and buries it into the young Russians chest, sending him crashing to the ice. International hockey outlaws hitting to the head, which is good because so does Junior hockey in Canada so Brad's learned to target his checks to an opponent's chest.

Sam informs me that the Russians have changed their goalie since the high scoring affair they had yesterday and that Russian goalies like to compete with each other and that one goalie getting drubbed the previous day means the other is going to come out like the re-incarnation of Vladislav Tretiak.

"Who the hell is Vladislav Tretiak?" I ask.

"Soviet goalie during the 1970s, arguably one of the top five goaltenders of all time." She answers. As we near the end of the second period, the shots are 28-26 favouring Team USA. The American defence has made sure that the Russians get only long distance shots in on goal whereas the Russian goalie has stood on his head to prevent the Americans from scoring. Near the end of the period, the Russians have a power-play and are working the puck around the top of the offensive zone. The Russian defenseman tees up a slap-shot but the American defenseman Nielson lays himself down in front of the shot and takes it off the top of his foot.

The puck slides over to Ashby and the referee blows the play down. Nielson is down hurt on the ice. Everyone on the Team USA bench is standing to see what's wrong. The Team USA trainer slides on his sneakers out to Nielson to check out his foot. "What do you think it is?" I ask Sam.

"I think he broke his foot." She answers. We watch as it takes the trainer a few minutes to get Nielson to his feet before taking him back over to the tunnel and straight into the Team USA dressing room. The rest of the period goes on without event and going into the second intermission, it's still a scoreless tie.

"Who has the advantage going into the third period?" I turn to Sam.

"Team USA is going to miss Nielson but you gotta think that the Russian goaltender can't keep this up much longer. It's about even but you've got to give the edge to Team USA." She explains. The two of us talk school and music and other stuff for the eighteen minutes of the intermission Was I justified to be a little jealous of her? Maybe a little bit but you know what? She's a really great person, so I can't knock Brad's taste.

Team USA comes out for the third period and I see Peter and Carey lining up for the face-off but I can't see Brad anywhere on the right wing. Sam taps me on the shoulder and points to the USA defence and I see Brad set up on the blue-line with Nolan White. Apparently, the USA coach has subbed in his team's best scorer to fill in on defence in the absence of Nielson. "Why's Brad playing defence?" I ask.

"They scratched their seventh defenseman before the game. Brad's a big guy and a fantastic skater. They play him on the point on the power-play anyway, so it's not like he's without experience in the position." Sam explains. The puck drops and the Russians control the play but Brad and Nolan go right to work on the blue-line. The Russians come charging at them but Brad stands at just over 6'3" and Nolan at almost 6'5" and that's without skates or pads on, so the Russian attack is quickly blunted and the play is sent back up ice the other way.

The play goes on at this pace all period. The Russians attack and the American defence holds them off. The Americans counter attack and they run into a large Russian wall in the form of Yuri Arduchenko, the Russian goaltender. With five minutes left in the period, the Americans are leading the shot count 47-29 but the game is still scoreless. It seems like it would take a corps of Navy cryptographers to solve Arduchenko at this point. The Americans and Russians evenly trade off penalties in the third period and with only two minutes left now, it seems like we're bound for overtime.

The Russians finally manage to pin the Americans down below their blue-line with forty-five seconds left, the Russians are pounding shots toward the net but American players are getting whatever part of their body or equipment in front of the puck that they can. The puck is bouncing around the American defensive zone like a pinball until it somehow ends up on the stick of Nolan White. Nolan takes a quick look a fires a pass up the middle for Brad and Brad takes off at full speed for the Russian goal. It becomes a foot race between Brad and the only Russian player with the speed to catch him, Ropatov.

Brad's got about a step and a half on the Russian who's trying desperately to catch him. They cross the Russian blue-line and Ropatov makes one last desperate attempt to stop the play. He takes a giant two handed slash and lands it right across Brad's lower shins, tripping him up. Brad tumbles to the ice and the referee, instead of calling for a penalty, points to centre ice. We understand why when we all look up at the clock and notice that there is exactly 3.3 seconds left on the clock. The linesman takes the puck and places it at centre ice. Brad gets up and skates back to his own blue-line. The Russian players gather at the Russian bench, the American players collect at the American bench. The American goaltender stands like some great stoic statue behind Brad in the American goal. The referee speaks to the Russian goaltender before skating back to centre and speaking with Brad. He backs off toward the penalty boxes on the other side of the rink. The arena is silent for a second before the referee blows his whistle.

Brad takes a few fast strong strides from the blue-line and he takes the puck at centre ice. He starts to break on a gradual curve to his left side. Sam points out in a low whisper that this makes sense given that he's a right handed shot. Brad's speed picks up, as does his handling of the puck as he crosses into the Russian zone. He begins to cut back toward the middle of the ice as he nears the goal. About ten feet out from the net, despite heading in a left-to-right motion Brad fires a shot on net. It rockets passed Russian goaltender Arduchenko and into the upper left hand corner of the net. Team USA leads 1-0 with 3.3 seconds left in the game.

Brad rushes back toward the American bench and leaps into the crowd of players that are there waiting for him. They know they're headed back to the gold medal game. The Canadians beat Sweden 6-0 earlier in the day, so facing Canada on Friday night may or may not be a good thing. The face-off that's coming is almost a formality. Ashby wins it and draws it back to Nolan White. White takes a few strides, crosses the redline and fires it down into the Russian zone. Time runs out.

The two teams coolly line up on their respective blue-lines just as they started the game. This time they're awarding the players of the game. No one is surprised when Arduchenko wins the award for the Russians. When Brad's name is called for Team USA, the arena erupts into rapturous applause. 12,000 fans are on their feet clapping for him as he skates over to accept his award. I've watched him play hockey since he was really young, but I don't think I've ever felt really proud for him until right now. Maybe that's a terrible thing to say, I don't know. The Americans line-up together again and belt-out _The Star Spangled Banner_ at the top of their lungs, almost drowning out the PA system

On Friday night, they'll play for gold.


	6. The Canada Game WJC

I hate my room-mates right now. After beating the Russians earlier, Carey and Ashby have gone off in search of puck bunnies which I imagine at least one of them will bring back to the hotel to do unspeakable things to. I'm probably kidding, but it means I won't get much sleep, so I've gone off in search of a better offer. I'm standing in front of Sasha's door with a blanket and some pillows wearing only my boxers and a t-shirt. I knock on the door. I could spend the night rooming with my brothers but well…if you had the choice wouldn't you take the sultry brunette? You probably don't have the best mental picture of Sasha but maybe I can help you out. There's a picture of her mom and dad at some Embassy hostage situation at the Sudanese embassy from years ago, she looks just like that except there's a little more auburn in her hair and she's like two inches shorter.

She comes to the door in a t-shirt and jogging pants. "What's up?"

"Carey and Ashby have gone off in search of loose women, I don't want to be in the room when they get back tonight so I figured I'd come down here and bunk on your floor." I reply and she lets me into the room.

"You can sleep down here, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor." She pushes me down on the bed. "Can you keep your hands to yourself?"

"Do you want me to?" I reply coyly just to watch her blush. Her cheeks turn a bright beet red and I chuckle to myself. "Coach wants me asleep by eleven, is that okay?"

"Probably better for you." She replies. "You're gonna have to get up early tomorrow anyway."

"Why?" I inquire.

"Because do you know what my dad will do to you if he catches you in here tomorrow morning?" She smiles at me a little evilly and I'm slightly worried. "You're a pretty big guy but my dad will kill you."

"You're sure I can use the bed then? Because I really value my life, and losing it before the gold medal game would kind of suck." I move up near the pillows at the top of the bed.

"You'll be fine." She tosses a pillow from the couch at me. "I'm just going to change; I'll be back out in a second." This is the problem I have with women; I don't know what 'going to change' means. See, I thought she was already in her pyjamas. What the hell could she possibly be changing into? I pull the covers up over my legs and turn on ESPN. "I'm not watching that." I hear a voice come from the doorway to the bathroom and I look over to see her in this red satin, I guess it's a nightie but it's a lot sexier than that. I try not to stare but I'm failing miserably. I just hand over the remote, hug the far side of the bed and pray for dear life. "You know, I don't have a contagious disease, you can move closer to the centre of the bed."

"No, I can't." I shake my head enthusiastically. She reaches over, grabs me around the waist and pulls me toward the centre of the bed. I just have to focus on falling asleep and I'll get through the night. Luckily for me, the high amount of exercise knocks me out really fast.

I'm awoken a short time later and I look over at the alarm clock radio. I look over at Sasha who's curled up in the foetal position. "Did you wake me up?" I ask groggily.

"It's a thunderstorm." She says pointing to the window. "I just don't sleep well with thunderstorms."

"Come here, you." I smile at her and open up my arms. She curls up to me and adopts the classic spooning position. Her back is pushed up against my chest and I've got my arms wrapped around her; my hands settling just below her breast. "I didn't know you had problems sleeping through thunderstorms."

"It's a family thing; my mom has problems with it too." Sasha replies, and she starts to soothingly rub my arms.

"What's with the sexy lingerie?" I whisper.

"You think _this _is sexy? You should see some of the things I've got it home." She teases me. She loves teasing me. She plays it so sweet and innocent most of the time but I think there's a tigress under that veneer. "I don't know, if you think this is sexy maybe you _can't_ keep your hands to yourself tonight."

"Don't think it's my hands you need to worry about." I reply flirtatiously, making sure my breath trickles down her neck. She snuggles even closer into me. God, I'd love to fall asleep right now because there's no way this moment gets any better. Her scent just overwhelms me, a part of me wants to just start kissing her neck and not stop until I reach her toes. Both our heads settle down on the pillow. I really need to sleep tonight, I've got practice at eleven tomorrow and then a cardio workout until three in the afternoon. Then I've got to tape a few interviews with ESPN, the local NBC affiliate and Canada's TSN.

But here, right now, I've got a beautiful woman in my arms. I'm trying to limit any contact with her soft olive skin, trying not to let my nostrils be invented by a smell I can only describe as "innocent sex". Yes, I know I seem to like that word but I'm in my boxers and she's really hot, what do you expect? I try to focus on just falling asleep again. It shouldn't be that hard…but by morning there's a damn good chance it will be.

I wake up the next morning at eight and punch the alarm. She turned in the night and right now her hair is fanned out over my chest. Her cheek rests softly on my right pectoral. I reach over for the phone to order room service and turn on the television, with the volume down so as not to wake her. "Hi, this is room 821. Can I get a bowl of oatmeal, some yogurt and orange juice? As well, can you send up whatever your signature breakfast is as well with some really strong coffee? Thank you." I place the phone back down. I know how Sasha eats, she'll order the richest most tasty thing on the menu. I have to order an assortment of the healthiest things available so that the muscle mass I've spent the last year building doesn't turn to mush overnight. I'm a slave to my body; I'd rather be a slave to hers.

I lightly stroke her arms until her eyes flutter open. "Morning." She says drowsily, turning her head so that her chin rests on my chest and she looks into my eyes. "You sleep well?" Considering the direction of my blood flow five minutes ago, I'd say I slept very well.

"Yeah." I nod. "I ordered breakfast."

"None of that bird food you eat, right?" She inquires.

"Only for me, I made sure they sent up only the best for you." I reply with a smile. "Is this weird for you?"

"No. Why, is it weird for you?" She asks, those big brown doe eyes just look so warm.

"Not at all, that's what has me a little concerned." I chuckle. "Is…is it okay if I grab a quick shower?"

"Sure, there's a spare bathrobe in the bathroom and the towels are in the drawers." She points to the bathroom. I smile and head in. I turn on the shower, take off my clothes and step inside. I can't believe I spent the night in her room and now I'm showering there. I'm sorely tempted to ask her to join me but then we'd never get out of here. After a few minutes, I step back out of the shower, run a towel over my hair before wrapping it around my waist and putting on the bathrobe. I walk out into the bedroom to see Mrs. Rabb standing there with Sasha and I know I'm in trouble.

"Morning, Mrs. Rabb." I try to greet her with a plastered on smile.

"Cut it, the pair of you." She has a no-bullshit look on her face. "I want a straight answer, did the two of you sleep together last night?"

I'd love to jump in and handle this one and if it was my parents or her father I would but Mrs. Rabb scares the hell out of me. "Mom, how could you think that?" Sasha protests.

"Let's see, you're in lingerie and he's in a bathrobe. The sheets are messed and there's a room service cart." Mrs. Rabb replies smartly. "Did you two have sex? You're not in trouble, I just need to know so I can keep your dad's stress level at an acceptable level until he finds out."

"No." I answer simply. "My room-mates were rowdy and I wasn't going to get any sleep upstairs so I came down here to see if I could bunk."

"And you didn't go to your brothers' room because?" Mrs. Rabb continues her examination.

"They're even rowdier." I reply.

"Uh-huh. How do you explain the sheets?" She continues.

"Mom, it was a thunderstorm last night, you know I don't do well when it comes to sleeping like that. So, I asked him if he'd hold me just to kind of calm me down, is that okay?" Sasha voice becomes prosecutorial.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady." Mrs. Rabb warns. "And how do you explain the lingerie."

"I wanted something to sleep in." Sasha replies. "Don't think I haven't heard the Russia story a dozen times. You wore something just as risqué in the same bed with dad once and the two of you claim it was completely innocent at the time."

"I was twenty-nine, you're seventeen. And this isn't about me. My seventeen year-old daughter just spent a night, in her hotel room with an older guy…" Mrs. Rabb is cut off by her daughter.

"He's eleven months older." She points out.

"…an older guy and I don't have the right to be a little protective?" She points out.

"No." Sasha protests. "Mom, I _am_ seventeen. Which, Madam Chief Justice, is over the legal age of consent in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania; so if I want to throw him down and ride him like Secretariat, that's _my_ private business." She strides over to me, puts her hand on the back of my neck and forcefully pulls my lips down to hers. After a few seconds, the primal part of me just takes over and pulls her tight against me. After a few more seconds, Mrs. Rabb storms out of the room and slams the door behind her.

"Just how much trouble are we in?" I ask, wincing as the door slams. "By the way, that little rant you unleashed was the hottest thing I've seen all week."

"Yeah, well in a few minutes I expect this floor to do its own rendition of the last days on Pompeii, so brace yourself." She sits down on the bed and pulls over the room service cart. "Might as well not let the food go to waste."

"How did your mother even end up in the room anyway?" I ask as I pull up a chair to the other side of the cart.

"She saw the two plates on the room service cart, so she walked over to the door. She heard the shower running so she got naturally inquisitive and of course you entered at exactly the wrong time." She laughs as she lifts of forkful of her eggs to her lips.

"I knew this would be made my fault somehow." I laugh as I pick at my oatmeal. We sit and talk and eat for a few minutes before I hear a loud thumping at the door. I get up and go to the door. Looking through the peephole I can see it's her father. Now, Mr. Rabb is the kindest man I know, he isn't capable of irrational violence but that's not my concern. She shouldn't have to deal with her dad; I will. I open the door and slip out.

"You." He says simply.

"Yeah, I think we need to talk." I reply with a self-satisfied smile. "Nothing happened last night. I mean _nothing._ Priests and nuns have had more explicit nights than we did, trust me. Now, as for what happened in that room about twenty minutes ago, the two of them blew up at each other. I'm not going to assign blame because there's no way that makes the situation any better. But I'm pretty sure I can convince Sasha to apologize to help smooth things over."

"Are you done now?" Mr. Rabb has his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I think so, yeah." I reply.

"Well first off, while appreciate the balls it took to come out here and confront me, especially considering the assumptions I was working under, this is really a family matter in which I think it would be unwise for you to involve yourself. Second, and we were probably bound to have this conversation anyway, don't play with my daughter's emotions. If you hurt her, I will make you suffer. Are we clear?"

"Freakin' crystal." I answer.

"Good. Last, if you could really get Sasha to apologize, you would be saving me a world of hurt. Do you think you can do it?" Mr. Rabb's back to being a more laid back guy.

"I think so, I mean they both kind of acted completely irrationally, which is odd for the two of them. I think Sasha will apologize once she realizes how it must have looked this morning." I explain. "That's a hell of a daughter you raised, sir."

"I like to think so." Mr. Rabb smiles. "Remember, you hurt her…"

"I suffer, I got it." I shake his hand and he heads back toward his room. My dad always told me that good people appreciate being dealt with directly and honestly, which was the only way to handle this situation. I open the door and head back into Sasha's room.

"Who was that?" She looks up from breakfast.

"Your dad." I answer taking a seat next to her on the bed.

"Awful brave of you." She replies with a fond smile. "What did he have to say?"

"Your mom's pretty upset." I start. "Also something about my suffering if you were hurt but it was mostly about your mom being upset about that little exchange you two had."

"Yeah, can you believe her?" Sasha turns to me.

"No doubt that she was a little over protective but you were a little aggressive with her too. I mean, I think you were completely right but she's your mom and there are some things you just shouldn't say to your parents." I'm treading lightly here.

"So you think I'm right but I should apologize anyway?" She questions.

"Yeah." I nod hesitantly.

"Why?" She questions.

"Because it doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong, she's your mom and that means you're the one who should apologize." I answer taking her hands in mine. "Just keep the peace; it's a hell of a lot easier than fighting over who's right or wrong. Do you really want to fight with your mom over something as small as this?"

"It's not small!" Sasha argues. "She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust that I'm able to just sleep in a bed with you, one of my oldest friends, without having sex with you."

"No offence, babe. But look at what you're wearing and look at what I'm wearing." I indicate that she's still wearing the red satin number and I'm still in a bathrobe. "I could call a few people in here; they'll make the same mistake. Now, it's a completely innocent mistake, there's no malicious intent, they're just following the trail of evidence."

"And the evidence suggests we had sex?" She questions, it's good to know she's back to trying to make me blush.

"Well, short of DNA…" I start but I see here start to move slowly closer to me on the bed.

"What was that you called me a minute or two ago?" She looks at me slyly.

"I may have used the word 'babe' but you were the one who kissed me pretty hard twenty minutes ago." I'm suddenly feeling the room get very small. I have to remember what dad says, the best defence is a good offence. I spin her around on the bed and begin to rub her shoulders. It's hell on me and I know that sounds pathetic but she's beautiful and she's got this great skin and the problem with touching her is that you want to kiss her. The problem with kissing her is that we then end up having to have some conversation about what this means for us. I know, I know, you're thinking I just kissed her. No, she kissed me. It's a small but important distinction. In these crazy delineations we've set up, she's allowed to kiss me whenever she wants because I'm not going to ask a lot of questions.

When she starts to emit these tiny little moans, it sends this shiver up my spine. This has to be a feeling of both pride and uncertainty. The clock on the nightstand reads 8:50; I've still got an hour before I've got to leave for practice. She's just letting her head roll loosely as I massage her shoulders. I don't think that my hands are going to be able to maintain their chivalry much longer. I get up from the bed and start to wring my hands. "Why did you stop?" She turns and looks over her shoulder at me.

"You can't be serious!" I charge. "Look at you! You think it's easy for me to touch you, to stroke you without wanting to just be with you?" I've got my arms crossed in front of my chest. She gets off the bed and starts walking toward me.

"Why don't you just be with me then?" She puts her hands on my chest.

"Because you don't know what it means." I reply. "When I get back to Kitchener, we go at a break neck pace until March, when the season ends. Then we've got the playoffs. If we're lucky or good or both, there's two months of those. Then I get a week maybe ten days off if we make the Memorial Cup, then I go to that week long tournament in Kingston. Once the season's over, I've got two or three weeks off before the draft combine and interviews and then another two or three weeks before the actual draft in June. After the draft, I have two months before training camp starts, I report to my NHL team at the start of September, if I stick with the team, I'll be there all season, if not then they send me back down to Kitchener." I explain, taking a deep breath.

"What's your point?" She asks, those big eyes pleading with me.

"You're about to enter university, then you'll have medical school, you really want to start a relationship with somebody who can _at best_ be a part-time boyfriend?" I question, trying not to let it slip that all I really want to do is take her in my arms and tell her that I can be everything she wants me to be. "I don't want to say no, because I can't say no when I look at you. I want you too much. But I don't know that a relationship is good for either of us; I've never been good at that kind of thing. I'll leave it up to you." I put my hands on her shoulders, lean forward and kiss her forehead.

"Will you come back here tonight?" She asks.

"No." I shake my head. "Not with the gold medal game the next day. But I'll be here the night after the game." I smile and close the door behind me.

The next thirty-six hours pass ridiculously slowly. I pull out all the stops at practice on the day off and in the gym after practice to try and get her out from under my helmet but it's not helping. Now we're all getting our equipment on before the biggest game of any of our lives. Of course those of us like Nolan, Marty Schaefer and myself who were here last year when we lost to Canada in the gold medal game. Pulling my skate laces tight, I look around the room and see the grim spectres of a team that's still trying to get over the close game against Russia Wednesday night.

The Canadians are the heavy favourites; they've absolutely laid waste to the competition they've faced in this tournament. They play a pretty simple style, they spend the first thirty minutes of the game establishing a multi-goal lead and then once they have it, they just play a shutdown game against the other team. There are a few guys on the other team that I'm worried about. Trevor Wood is expected to go first overall at the Draft in June; he's a star centre with the Guelph Storm in the OHL, those things generally amount to a media created rivalry between the two of us back in Canada. Then there's the Team Canada Captain, Marcus Grundler who plays in the Western Hockey League for the Everett Silvertips. He's a big defenseman with a bit of a temper and a huge slap-shot. Last year, I almost got in a fight with him during the gold medal game and tempers could run high again this year. Finally there's the Canadian goaltender Jean-Antoine Gaudreau who plays for Baie-Comeau Drakkar of the Quebec League.

Once I've got my jersey on, I look down at the blue on the sleeves. I love wearing this jersey, though I'll never admit it out loud, it does kind of make me feel like Superman. I pull my helmet out from behind me and I stare down at the white helmet contrasted against the black cage that comes down over my face. I slide my gloves over my hands and begin to pace the room. "You're gonna tire yourself out, Cap'." Nolan muses as he spins another roll of tape over the blade of his stick.

"Just trying to work off a little of the excess energy." I reply, running my hand through my hair.

"Thought that was what the little brunette missus was for?" Nolan jests and I take a seat next to him. "You're about to introspect aren't you?"

"I'm just trying to understand the world." I reply, hunching forward in my seat.

"No, you're trying to understand women and _that's_ dangerous." Nolan chuckles. "Now, get your head in the game and leave the girl in the stands." Nolan and I are the leaders of this team on the ice and on the bench. It's going to be interesting for us to skate out on to that ice and see Doc playing for the other team, since we're used to playing with him in Kitchener. But maybe it'll be just like playing against Huddy in the Czech Republic game.

Coach gives us a pretty good pre-game talk and then we head down the hallway to the tunnel. Tonight's game, just like Wednesday night's game is being broadcast on NBC right before the bowl game. The overnight ratings from Wednesday showed that we got six million viewers, so NBC opted to show the gold medal game as well. They call out the Team Canada players first and they take the ice in their Canadian red jerseys. Then they call out the Team USA players. The line slowly shuffles out on to the ice until I'm the only one left in the tunnel. They call my name and I skate out on to the ice to a mass of deafening cheers from the sell out crowd here at the Wachovia Center.

The coach sends out our shutdown line against the top line for Team Canada. The only thing that becomes apparent after the face-off is that they're overmatched. The Canadians bowl over them, even most of them are able to do it with size but Trevor Wood does it with pure skill. The Canadians control the play for a few seconds before Wood slides a pass out in front of the net to one of his line-mates to put the Canadians up 1-0. Coach shakes his head and sends my line over the boards. Just as I climb over the boards, I look over at the Canadian bench and see Marcus Grundler taking to the ice.

Ashby and Doc line up on opposite sides of centre ice. Ashby's got arms like an oranguatan; it's what makes him a great centre. He wins the draw and pulls the puck back to Spencer at the point. Spencer looks for me or Carey in order to make a quick pass up ice. He finds me on the right wing and I streak up ice with the puck on the blade of my stick. I've hold to the outside of Grundler who's trying to force me into the boards. I flip a pass over to Carey who has kept pace with me. Carey barely accepts the pass before firing a wrist shot on goal. The Canadian goaltender Gaudreau gets over and catches the shot in a brilliant save. I come to sharp stop in front of the Canadian goal, spraying snow all over the goaltender. Grundler gives me a shove that causes me to stagger for a second. I take a step and give him a hard shove right back that knocks him flat on his butt.

Back home in the Canadian League, if the two of us met like this we'd just drop the gloves; pull off our helmets and fight to get it over with. But you can't fight in international hockey without being kicked out of the game. When Grundler gets up, he goes helmet to helmet with me and jaws at me. He'll call me every name under the sun and I'll respond in kind. The linesmen get between us and separate us and direct us back to our benches. This is going to keep happening though. The game takes on a rough and tumble attitude for the rest of the game because of what I've done. It plays right into the hands of the Canadian team and at the end of the first period; the Canadians are up 3-0.

As we re-enter the dressing room in between periods, I break my stick over the door in frustration. "Ease up, Cap', we'll get them next period." Carey gives me a pat on the back. Goddamn, I want that gold medal so badly but I can feel it slipping away again. We sit here and listen to the coach lecture us. He's pulling our goaltender, Petrecki and putting in our other goalie, Kevin MacMillan. He's tearing into our defence for not standing up the Canadian wingers at the blue-line and he's even ripping some of our other forwards for not back-checking hard enough. All the while, Nolan and I are sitting there shaking our heads. We're trying to figure out some way to crack the Canadian goaltender's focus. Eventually Nolan and I arrive at a plan that we're going to try going into the second period. We pull on our helmets and head out the door to play the second period.

Coach sends our line over the boards first. Ashby wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Nolan. The big defenseman is able to control the puck with such ease. He flips a pass up to Carey who skates it in over the line. I skate hard toward the front of the Canadian net to obstruct to goalie's view. The goaltender's trying to push me out of the way and so is Grundler. I just crouch over and hold my ground. Carey drops a pass back to Nolan who hesitates for a second so his booming shot doesn't hit me before letting one goal. It's along the ice and it hits the goaltender in the pads. Before I can get my stick on the rebound, I feel Grundler cross-check my back, so I make sure I fall forward on top of the Canadian goalie. The Canadian players rush over to pull me off their goaltender and Grundler manhandles me again. This time the referee calls him for a penalty and escorts him to the box.

We set up the power-play. Nolan and I stand guard on the point with Ashby, Carey and Jack Hamilton as our forwards. Peter wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Nolan. Nolan handles the puck just long enough to give me time to set up on the other side. Ashby sets up in front of the net to block the goalie's view. Nolan sends a pass over to me I look for an open shooting lane. After failing to find one, I send a pass back over to Nolan who looks for an open lane to the net. He pump fakes two shots before throwing a quick pass back over to me. I fire a quick one-timer on net that Ashby gets his stick on and deflects into the Canadian net passed goaltender Gaudreau.

Sadly, that was as close as we got all period. We weren't able to maintain any kind of pressure and the Canadians took advantage. By the end of the second period, the score is 5-1 for Team Canada. The team returns to the dressing room a dispirited group. Nolan and I are hanging our heads trying to find someway to motivate this team. We're the leaders of this team whether we like it or not. It's not the time for speeches, though in the movies this is always where the Captain or the coach gives a speech. I get up from my stall and walk over to the coach. "Put me out against Wood next period." I tell him.

"You want to play against their top line?" He questions.

"No, I want to knock the little fucker into next week." I reply with an evil smile. "Something's going to shake our guys loose and there's no better way to do it than to lead by example."

"So, you want to take a penalty?" The coach presses, I can tell he's annoyed.

"No, I want to rattle a cage or two." I reply. "Completely within the rules."

"Alright, either you're crazy or I am, but we've only got twenty minutes left at this tournament, so we'll figure out which." Coach gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Still one of us should say something."

"I got it." I nod at him. I clap my hands together a few times to draw attention to the centre of the room. "Listen up! We've got twenty minutes left and at least four goals to score, so if I see anybody in this room play like they've given up, so help me God you will need the trainer to pull my skate out of your ass, got it?!" There's a round of grunts. "I'm not kidding guys; you better go out there ready to play."

"Come on, Cap'." Bienkovsky interrupts me. "We're tired, we're frustrated, they're bigger, they're stronger. It's like being a welterweight in a fight with a heavyweight. We stayed in as long as we could but they're got us on the ropes, why does it matter how we fall to the mat?"

It's a good question, they must all feel defeated. I take a second and scratch my brow. Eventually I return my eyes to the questioner. "Because when the fall's all that's left, it matters a great deal." I answer and I look over at Nolan, Carey and Ashby who are all nodding. "Now, let's go out there and take it to them." I rally the team. They're half-assed enthused but they'll pick up steam as the period goes on. We head for the tunnel back out on to the ice. Coach wants me, Carey, Ashby, Nolan and Spencer on the ice to start the period.

Ashby steps into the face-off circle against Trevor Wood. Wood wins the face-off but Ashby steps into him and knocks him to the ice. I'm waiting for Peter to flick me a pass because the Canadian defence has folded in on the middle of the ice. Peter flits a pass out of the crowd at centre ice to my side of the ice. I take the pass calmly on my stick and take off for the net. Grundler removes himself from the scrum and takes off after me. He gets alongside me and tries to knock me off the puck but I'm just bearing down on the net at a solid rate of speed.

As we near the net, I've got to think of something to do to shake my defensive coverage. I slow down just a little bit and Grundler gets a step on me but I slide the puck through his legs a lift a backhanded shot on net. The big Canadian defenseman is standing between me and the puck in the air right now but when I see the red light go on behind the goal; my arms go into the air. Canada 5 – USA 2.

We head back to the bench for about a minute. The rest of the team might not think we can still win but at least my line does. Nolan rubs the top of my helmet as the two of us lean forward on the boards. Another line goes on the ice before it's time for my group to head back on. We're a little more than two minutes into the period and we climb over the boards for another shift. The Canadians iced the puck, and under new international rules, it's just like back home. They can't change their lines to match up with ours.

Ashby wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Spencer. Spencer plays with it for a second before sending it down the boards to me. I toss a pass down low to Ashby in the corner. Peter heads around behind the net with the puck. He drops a pass to Carey who moves in from the half-boards to the corner. Carey watches me move in from the opposing half-boards to the side of the net. He fires a hard pass across in front of the net and it lands right on the blade of my stick. I just flick my wrists and it ends up in the back of the net. Canada 5 – USA 3. The team's starting to get a little more revved up at the bench. We head back over to a crowd of smiles and cheers. Our team might just be back in it.

The period drudges on for a few more minutes and at times it seems like the Canadians can keep us hemmed in. But just as it looks hopeless, Andrew Bienkovsky fires a long stretch pass to Jack Hamilton who's hovering in the neutral zone. The Minnesota Wild first rounder and freshman at the University of North Dakota, is headed in alone on the Canadian goaltender. He fakes a wrist shot to the glove side goes to his backhand and lifts a backhander over the blocker of the sprawling Canadian goaltender. Canada 5 – USA 4. Hammy comes back to the bench and is mobbed by his team-mates. There isn't a soul on this bench who thinks we can't win now. I rub the top of Hammy's helmet as he joins us on the bench. Time continues to count down for us though. With slightly over two minutes left, Coach sends my line over the boards.

Ashby wins another face-off but within a few seconds we're struggling to maintain puck possession down low in the Canada zone. I'm trying to muscle a few guys in red sweaters off the puck. I succeed and move in behind the net. I slide a pass back up to Carey at the half-boards but he's checked fast by a Canadian defender. He loses the puck and I go chasing after it but before I can get there I feel a force throw me from my feet into the boards which I'm still more than two feet from. I go down and pull my helmet off my head. This serves two purposes, first is that it plays up the hit that came before it and the other is to allow me to check my vision to make sure I'm okay.

The whistle goes and Grundler is taken to the penalty box for two minutes for boarding. I slowly get back to my feet and put my helmet back on. Here's our last chance. We line up for the power-play, the only substitution is that Spencer Kraft is sent off and Jack Hamilton is sent on. I move back to the point next to Nolan. Peter loses the face-off and a Team Canada defender tries to send the puck around the boards and out of the zone. I race over and intercept the puck at the blue-line. I slide a pass down low to Jack Hamilton. Hammy plays with the puck before sending it across behind the net to Carey Moore. Carey tries to move a pass out front but reconsiders and fires a cross-ice pass to me at the far half-boards. I move in a little toward the net, in a bit of a draw before firing a pass back to Nolan at the point. Nolan rips a slap-shot on goal that sneaks in over the Canadian goalie's shoulder. Canada 5 – USA 5.

We all skate back and mob Nolan at the blue-line. The American side of the arena is on its feet having just erupted in applause. The Canadian side is absolutely stunned. With twenty-one seconds left in the period, the game is tied. There's massive cheering just coming from our own bench as we head back over. We play out the last twenty-one seconds of the game and prepare for overtime. Overtime is five minutes of hell, it's an intense quasi-orgasmic experience because the next goal wins and the energy from the crowd just pulsates throughout the building. I'm on the ice for almost all five minutes and while there are quality chances at both ends, no one scores. We're headed to a shootout.

The rules of a shootout are simple. Each side designates three different shooters. Whichever side scores the most times from those three shooters wins. If it's tied, then the coach can designate anyone on the team to take the following shots in the sudden death rounds. For our team, coach picks Nolan, Ashby and me. I don't know who's going for Team Canada but I'm willing to bet that Trevor Wood is their third shooter. "Hey Nolan!" I shout and my team-mate turns back toward me. "Ring the bell." I tell him and he nods.

We have to shoot first and our first shooter is Nolan. The ref blows his whistle and Nolan pushes the puck forward. He steps over the blue-line and has the puck well out in front of him. He tees up another slap-shot and just unleashes it. It slams the front of Gaudreau's mask and knocks the Canadian goaltender flat on his back. It's no goal, but it may have served a better purpose than scoring.

The Canadians send out Ontario League sniper Ronny Fernandez. Fernandez zooms in on goal and fires a shot at the high glove hand side of the net. But our goaltender, Kevin MacMillan, flashes his glove hand out and keeps the puck out of the net. The next shooter for our side is Peter Ashby. Peter's great a handling the puck, as he moves in on net, his moves get more frantic and styled. He curls up on his forehand as he's right up against the blue paint of the crease and he fires a quick wrist shot into the top of the net. He taunts the Canadian bench as he skates by on his way back to our bench.

The next up for the Canadians is Marcus Grundler. In spite of the fact that I think he's a goon, he's actually a really talented defenseman. Grundler moves in on our goaltender and fires crisp, heavy wrist shot through our goaltender's five-hole. Now, it's up to me. I'm the third shooter for Team USA. I take the puck at centre ice and slowly gain steam as I move in on the Canadian goal. Just as I move in toward the slot, I ease off the gas a bit and fire a shot, low blocker side, on the Canadian goaltender beating him and putting Team USA up by a goal. I skate full tilt back to the bench and take a flying leap into my team-mates waiting there for me. But now it all comes down to our goalie. The Canadians send Trevor Wood out to take the shot.

Wood skates in full throttle on MacMillan. As he gets in close, he fakes a shot to the glove side, somehow controls the puck and wraps it around MacMillan to the stick side. We're still tied. The ref calls me and Grundler over to discuss the rules for extra shooters. We have to change the rotation because it's the last game no team is to be given an unfair advantage or some stupid rule like that in the IIHF book. So, the Canadians get the next shooter too. They send Wood back out. This time he moves in on MacMillan a little slower, taking time to weigh his options. This go around, when he gets in close to MacMillan, he fires a shot at the stick side but MacMillan uses his blocker to direct the shot to the side boards.

I stand at centre ice. The equation now is simple. I score and the gold medal is ours. I take the puck in at a pretty fast pace. I fly down the left hand side, curving in slowly toward the Canadian goal. I make the play like I'm going to try and lift a backhander over Gaudreau's shoulder so he hugs the post really tight. I cut hard and fast back into the middle of the ice and the goaltender follows me, prepared for the shot. At the last second, I reach around him with my stick and flip a backhander into the net. The red light goes on and I head back toward the bench but my team-mates have already hopped over the boards and they mob me on my way over.

The Canadian team is completely deflated. They watched a four goal lead slip through their fingers. The two teams line up at centre ice and we shake hands to congratulate each other on a hard fought match. An absolute bloody war on ice. I shake Doc's hand and laugh because I know I'll see him on the flight tomorrow. Grundler and I shake hands with a grudging respect. Our series is tied, he beat me last year and I beat him this year. But I think we'll meet again. The two team line up on their respective blue-lines for the awards ceremony. Gaudreau, Grundler and Wood all get named to the tournament all-star team from Team Canada. From our team, only Nolan and I get that honour. Hedlund, the Swede, is the only other player on the team. Wood is named the player of the game for Team Canada, and I win the honours for Team USA, it's my third such honour of the tournament. Then the medals are presented. We line up and let them hang the golds around our necks and once that's done. We sing along with the ceremonial playing of _The Star Spangled Banner_ at the top of our lungs.

After a few moments of waving to the crowd and conducting on-ice interviews with the sports news services covering the game, we head back toward the tunnel and the dressing room. I stop for a second to sign some autographs for the kids pushing pucks and jerseys and copies of my hockey card in my face. After signing a few autographs, I look up a see a familiar face hanging over the rail. It's Sash. I reach up take her by the crook of her neck and pull her into a kiss. I don't really use the word "love" a lot but I do love this woman's tongue. She moves it so well and so nimbly. Eventually we part, look up and realize we're on the jumbo-tron hanging over centre ice. I lean forward and whisper in her ear. "Tonight?"

"Yeah." She breathes back.

Well, I never did get to her hotel room last night. The boys took me out celebrating as the hockey world's newest gold medallists. We got back late last night and hit the sack almost immediately since we had early flights the next morning. So, I got up at six this morning. Wrote a very long note trying to explain myself and my actions and slid it under her door before heading down to meet up with the boys for breakfast. We left for the airport together. We all said goodbye to Ashby so he could hop on a short commuter flight to Erie. Spencer, Carey, Nolan and I met up with Doc and Huddy at the gate for the Kitchener flight. We're a good contrast, the six of us. Three of us know where we're going. Huddy's going to the Atlanta training camp next September, but he'll likely end up with their AHL affiliate in Chicago. Spencer's the same way, he'll go to the New York Rangers' training camp but he'll likely end up with their AHL affiliate in Hartford. Of all of us, Nolan has the best chance of cracking the pros next year with the Philadelphia Flyers.

Carey, Doc and I, we all gotta wait until June just to see if we get drafted and if we do, where we'll end up. Even then there's a chance that the three of us will end up back in Kitchener next year. Not a bad thing, but Kitchener's miles away from Harvard.


	7. The Kingston Game MC

It's been a rough couple of months since the World Junior Championships. First, when the lot of us got back to Kitchener, it was less than a month before the trade deadline. At the deadline we dealt our Captain, Paul Winter, to the Kingston Frontenacs for a young winger name Willie McKee. After moving our Captain out of town, our Coach had a tough decision to make as to who would replace Paul as Captain. Eventually he decided on a Co-Captain situation. Nolan would wear the 'C' on his jersey when we wore the whites and me and Huddy would be his Assistants. When we wear the blues, I wear the 'C' with Nolan and Huddy as my Assistants.

Immediately after we traded our Captain, our team went into a bit of a slump. We dropped from first in the conference to sixth in a span of two weeks. Four of our top six forwards were experiencing scoring droughts and our special teams were just abysmal. But we started to slowly recover. Within another two weeks, we had leap-frogged Erie and Saginaw to climb to forth in the conference. Then after playing a home and home with Windsor, we managed to move passed them into third place in the Conference. We were gaining speed at a really fast rate. Another week and a half later and we have overtaken London for the lead in our division and second place in the Conference. Only the Plymouth Whalers stood between us and a return to first place.

Our first line had really turned up the heat. By the beginning of March, three of the top ten scorers in the league were Kitchener Rangers. Carey was sixth in the league with eighty-nine points. Doc was fourth in the league with ninety-four points. I was first in the league with one hundred and forty-nine points. We went after Plymouth's conference lead with a vengeance in the last two weeks of the season and by the time the season ended on March 16th; we had a four point lead on Plymouth and were in solid possession of first place in the Western conference.

Playoffs here are nuts. We played Sault Ste Marie in the first round, they're not even a major rival of ours but our fans sounded like they were out for blood every game! Thank God we swept the Greyhounds in four games; it was getting bad out there. Of course, it got worse when we found out we'd be playing Guelph in the second round of the playoffs. Guelph is our major rival, like the Yankees to our Red Sox or the Liverpool to our Manchester United. After a series that beat the hell out of both teams, Guelph went down in five games and we moved on to the Western Conference Final against our other major rival: The London Knights.

London tried to take the game to us but we on the first two games in Kitchener and the third game in London but the Knights battled back to win game four in London. But when the series came back to our home rink in Kitchener, it was all ours. We beat London 7-0 in game five in Kitchener to advance to the OHL finals. We spent four days eagerly waiting to see who we were going to play as Kingston and Peterborough were locked in a death battle to see who win the Eastern Conference finals. We watched Game Seven live on Sportsnet TV when we saw Peterborough pull it out in the fourth overtime of Game 7.

The Petes were tough. Because they're in the Eastern Conference, we only play them twice all season so; we weren't as familiar with them as we were with Guelph or London who we see six times a year. The Petes played great defensive hockey and they had probably the best goaltender in the league but they just couldn't keep up with our offensive firepower. Eventually Peterborough followed Sault Ste Marie, Guelph and London on to the ash-heap of the playoffs after losing to us in six games.

Now we're on the team bus headed to Kingston for the Memorial Cup. I know that it must seem tedious when I update you on the hockey goings on but it serves a point, believe me. The Memorial Cup is the Championship tournament of the Canadian Hockey League of which the Ontario Hockey League is only one of three subsidiary leagues (the other two are the Western Hockey League [WHL and Quebec Major Junior Hockey League [QMJHL). The Champions of the three leagues play in a round robin tournament along with the team from the tournament host city, which this year happens to be Kingston.

Now, I do actually have a life outside of hockey. I've spoken with Sasha a few times since the tournament ended in January. In retrospect, probably the smartest decision I've ever made was leaving the future of our "relationship" because I know she's got the brains to make the right decision. If it was me, I'd likely listen to the wrong head which could get both of us in a lot of trouble. I know she's struggling with it, so am I to an extent. But she's off to Harvard next year; I don't know where I'll be, so the logistics of any relationship between the two of us would be tricky. Can you even really have a relationship with a person you might see for four months a year? I know this sounds like we're getting way too serious for our age but you need to understand something; we're best friends, you don't risk _that_ for a fling, it had better be real.

Add to which, the Rangers are very active in the community back in Kitchener. We went to the paediatrics ward of the Kitchener-Waterloo General Hospital a few weeks back to sign a few autographs and spend some time with the kids who were suffering from chronic or terminal illnesses. I spent some time with a boy who was suffering from some terrible strain of leukemia. He told me about how he was the best defenseman on his Peewee AAA team before his disease came out of remission. I sat by his bed for over an hour letting him talk about hockey until I heard the soft sound of pouting coming from outside the door. I excused myself very politely and I went out to see what was going on. Out in the hallway, there was a young nurse, she couldn't have been too much older than me, maybe six years or so.

I calmed her down and took her down to the hospital cafeteria. She explained why she was crying. She said that the boy probably didn't have much longer to live and from the way she talked about this kid, I got the feeling that she was particularly attached to him. You sometimes forget when you do what I do, that there are people whose work, while it may not take the physical toll, takes a much heavier emotional toll on them. I don't know what it was about that boy or maybe that nurse but I went back to see him once a week. The last time I went back to see him, he told me that he's be watching Game Five of our playoff series against Guelph and he asked me if I'd score a goal for him. I scored three. That was Friday night, by Monday morning he was no longer with us.

I got a call from Amy, the nurse, on Monday evening to tell me that he'd died. The two of us met up at a coffee shop, they're called _Tim Horton's_ here in Canada, and we talked about all the times we'd spoken with him. I got to be a sounding board for all her frustrations and I have to admit. You never know when you're known for playing a sport, if you're having a meaningful impact on somebody else's life. But that day I knew. I knew that I had an impact on that boy in some way and I knew that I'd had an impact on Amy in some way.

Like I said, we're on the team bus headed to Kingston. I've got my head resting on the glass of the window at the back of the bus. My headphones are pumping Bruce Springsteen through my ears as I try to catch up on a bit of sleep. I feel a big form thump down in the seat next to me. I look over and see Nolan sitting there so I pull the one headphone off my left ear. "Thinking about the nurse?" Nolan questions.

"The tournament actually." I answer. "We've got a good chance against Kingston and Gatineau but Everett is going to be tough."

"Everett's going to be tough because they've got outstanding goaltending and a fantastic defence corps. We just beat a Peterborough team that had exactly the same mixture." Nolan replies. "But we got three days before the tournament starts, what's with you and the strategizing?"

"We just finished seven months of what would lightly be described as the gruelling hell of the OHL regular season and playoffs; it seems prudent to make sure that all counts for something by winning the Cup." I reply as I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

"Yeah, you seemed to be contemplating the Sandman Strategy right there." Nolan jokes. "You still worried about the draft?"

"Five weeks away? You bet your ass I'm worried about the Draft." I nod calmly. The one thing about Nolan is that even if he were to never play a game of hockey for the Flyers, he would still go down as one of the most NHL savvy prospects ever. "Heard anything?"

"Flyers really seemed keen on you but they're doing really well right now and their scouts just think there's no way you'll still be available by the time their first rounder comes along. Ditto Pittsburgh and Washington. I think the Devils, Rangers and Sabres are all on the bandwagon. I think out west you're looking at maybe Colorado or Dallas." Nolan wrings his hands. "A few Canadian teams are interested, the Leafs and Canucks are both bad this year, so their draft pick will be high enough."

We pull off Highway 401 into Kingston. I'll say that of all the cities that we travel to I like Kingston and Ottawa the most. They've got these great sweeping landscapes, beautiful scenery, historic buildings and great bustling downtowns. The rest of the cities in the OHL look like regular industrial towns from Ohio or Pennsylvania, but there's just something about Kingston and Ottawa. The bus wheels through the outer suburban area before stopping at a hotel on Kingston's waterfront. "And by the way, bud," Nolan puts a hand on my shoulder as we line up to file off the bus, "I arranged a little surprise for you."

I eye him suspiciously as we make our way off the bus. This Rangers team is walking into a tournament of four teams as the heavyweight. This makes this team a stark contrast to the American one that I was playing on at Christmas. We've got the goaltending, a strong and big defence corps and enough firepower to light up teams like the 4th of July. We run two lines that score like rock stars in a sorority house, one line that's a premiere shutdown unit and a fourth line whose sole purpose is to beat the hell out of you.

We step off the bus into the parking lot of the Confederation Place Hotel and I see a familiar form waiting for me. She runs over to me and leaps into my arms. Her arms wrap around my neck and mine go right around her waist. "Hey, knock it off!" I shout at the guys who are applauding wildly behind my back. "But how…?"

"That would be my doing." Nolan stepped forward. "Amazing what you can do with a little time, a cell phone and some cash."

"Not to mention a plane, a train and an automobile." Sasha smiles at me. We lock arms and head for the front door of the hotel. The hotel already has twelve rooms set aside for us and of course Nolan's got Sasha's first night. I'll use the money from my Nike-Bauer hockey endorsement to pay for the next nine days. We've got a light practice tomorrow morning and then I've got about two hours of extra time on the ice with the other three team Captains to film a few ads for Sportsnet's coverage of the Cup.

I don't know what I'm going to do tonight but I know what I want to do. This time her room's on the same floor as the rest of the team. I know that typical arguments about team moral would say that it's a bad idea to set one player apart from the rest of the team by allowing him to bring a woman on the trip while the rest of the guys get to trudge on through their loneliness. So, I made sure that I pulled every member of the team aside to make sure there were no hard feelings about it. Coincidentally, they all gave me the same response. The ones who had girlfriends back home told me that I'd suffered a cold Canadian winter without anyone to keep me warm, so it was about time I got me some. The single ones said there were no hard feelings since they'd be out chasing some girls when they got the chance over the next few days anyway.

The two of us retreated to her room. Normally, when we're on the road and we've got to stay overnight, my room-mate is Nolan. Needless to say I prefer rooming with a sultry female brunette. The second we close the door behind us, we're on each other. I've got her pressed up against the back of the door and we're locked in a heated kiss. It only takes a few seconds before my lips start working their way down her neck. She's completely left the floor. Her legs are locked around my waist and her fingers are running through my hair. I pull her tank top up over her head and move my lips down to her clavicle. I've got her pressed up against the door a little harder so that I can execute this next move with my hands. My hands move up the silky smooth skin of her stomach toward her breasts. This is a risky move, one I know that if I had tried previously I would have been shot, but the time seems right.

She reaches down and puts a little pressure on my hands to keep them where they are. "Wait." She says, biting her lip. "Not that this isn't great."

"It's fantastic." I reply with a smile.

"Don't you think we're moving a little fast? I mean don't you even want to know if I've reached a decision?" She questions but I have a hard time taking my eyes off those lips of hers which are starting to become a little swollen.

"Have you reached one?" I ask.

"No." She replies, shaking her head.

"Then no." I answer and go back to work on her neck. She puts her hands on my chest to indicate for me to stop.

"Weren't you the one who always argued that our friendship, our ability to relate to one another is too important to risk for a fling?" She protests.

"Yeah, but I'm asking you to make a monumental decision here and it occurred to me that you never make big decisions in life without some kind of sample. Think about it, when you want to buy a bottle of wine at a restaurant you get a tasting; when you want to buy a car you get a test drive; when you want to buy a house you get a showing. Why is that we shouldn't have a little sample of what we're considering?" I question, hoping that my argument has swayed her.

"How long have you been practising that argument?" She asks.

"I may have started on the bus but it's mostly off the top of my head." I'm still smiling and I hope with good reason.

"Alright, well I think there are flaws with your argument." She starts. "That having been said, it sounds like an amazing amount of fun for the next ten days. So, I'm torn." I move in hard and press my lips to hers. This kiss is an attempt to re-ignite the flame and it works. Her fingers go back to raking through my hair. "Oh God, just be gentle." She moans out as I carry her over to the bed in the room.

All I have to say is "WOW!" I know, I know, you're all thinking that I'm overplaying it. There's no way that anyone is _that_ good on their first time, right? Wrong. I don't know how she managed to be…to be honest I don't even care how, I'll just accept it as a part of the mystery that is this woman and let it be. In fact, I start whistling that exact Beatles song as I slide my boxers back on and head for the window that overlooks Lake Ontario. Night has fallen over the city of Kingston and while I'm sure that I could be downstairs in the bar with the boys but I'd much rather be here.

"There will be an answer…" I sing under my breath a little.

"Let it be." Her soft angelic voice lingers over my shoulder as she wraps her arms around my mid section. The one thing I learned a little over an hour ago is that she loves running her fingers over the definition of my abdominal and arm muscles. I can feel her naked body pressed against my back and it is easily the best feeling that God has ever allowed mortal man to feel. I crane my head back over my shoulder and give her a quick peck on the lips.

"How do you feel?" I question.

"Different, not bad just like something's changed." She replies and starts to kiss my back. "But I guess something has."

"You think the clergy will be able to tell when you go back to school next week?" I tease and she lightly slaps my right shoulder. "So, is this what you expected when you got here today?"

"I never did know what to expect with you." She replies as she hugs me a little tighter. "What about you? Was it awkward or weird or you know… bad for you?" I turn around to face her and I take her head in my hands.

"I want you to put that thought out of your head right now." I lean down and kiss her lips. "You were……listen, I'm just a simple hockey player, my vocabulary pales in comparison to yours but all I can say is…wow!" She giggles a little and blushes. She's not the kind of girl who would take some kind of ego boost from having sexual prowess, she's of the mindset that there are some skills it is perhaps best to keep private. It's just another thing about her you have to like.

There's a knock on the door. I motion for her to hide in the bathroom while I go check on the door. I pull my slacks back on and do up my belt before heading to the door. I open the door to find Carey and Nolan standing there. "Dude, you've got to come down to the bar! Nolan's buying drinks."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need to take a rain check." I nod furiously. Nolan looks over my shoulder and sees the sheets ruffled and mostly hanging off the bed. Carey starts to sniff like a basset hound looking for something suspicious.

"Oh my God!" Carey announces. "You just had sex!" I slam the door behind me as I walk out into the hallway.

"You wanna keep your voice down?" I insist as I try not to laugh at the smile on Carey's face.

"Up top." Nolan raises his hand expecting a high five and I reluctantly oblige. He pulls me in to give me a pat on the back. "I'm impressed; I thought it would take you at least two days to seal the deal."

"Cap, man; the fact that you got a woman like that…you're my hero man." Carey's mocking me now. "So was she a wildcat or what's happening?"

"I'm not talking about that. Some things are gonna have to be private on this team." I reply with a slight look of disbelief.

"Yeah, I mean right here in the hallway sure. But tomorrow in the dressing room before practice? Come on, man, you can't be hording on the brothers." Carey pops me in the shoulder. "That's the finest piece of ass any one on this team has seen all year and I'm even speaking for the guys with girlfriends, you gotta share."

"You really feel that much of a need to live vicariously through me?" I chuckle.

"We share all our stories with the dressing room." Carey protests.

"Yeah, but you volunteer them. You're gonna have to torture me to get this story." I reply with a smug grin. "Now gentlemen, if you'll excuse me." I re-open the door.

"One more thing, man." Nolan pipes up. "Since we don't have access to a gym here, a bunch of us are going for a run along the water front, over the bridge to the military college and back at six tomorrow morning. You in?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." I nod and close the door behind me.

"What was that about?" She asks from the bed. I look over to see she has the blanket pulled up around her chin.

"Oh the guys wanted to see if I'd go down and have a drink with them at the bar and I declined. Then Nolan said a bunch of the guys were going for a run tomorrow morning at six and I said I'd go along." I reply as I walk over to the night stand and set the alarm clock for 5:30.

"I have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow morning?" She questions.

"No, _I_ have to get up at that time, you can sleep until whenever, just realize I won't be back from shooting the ad promos until around two tomorrow afternoon." I pull off my slacks and slide back under the covers with her.

It's two days later and we're about to skate on to the ice for what some of us will say is the biggest tournament of our lives to this point. We're about to skate on to the ice against the host team Kingston Frontenacs. Today, we're the late game. Two hours ago, the Everett Silvertips got off the ice after beating the Gatineau Olympiques 6-3. Tonight, the arena is full to the rafters and the atmosphere is electric. These teams all have something in common; they've got a future franchise player headlining their team. The Silvertips have Marcus Grundler, their Captain and best defenseman; the Olympiques have Andre Drapeau, a goaltender and a second overall pick of the Washington Capitals; for the Kingston Frontenacs there's Cory Stewart, a six foot and speedy centre who was taken fifth overall by the Dallas Stars. Our franchise player is simple, it's Nolan White. Nolan led all OHL defensemen in total points (56) and plus/minus ( 61), he's huge, he skates incredibly well for a big guy and I think he's one of the few guys who could stop a zamboni in its tracks.

We stride on to the ice and we see a sea of black jerseys in the crowd. Kingston fans are out in force trying to give their team every edge that they can. The one thing that's odd about the OHL, is that in spite of the fact that we have five Americans on the team, because the two teams are based in Canada only the Canadian national anthem is sung. But it's like that in most sports, so it's really not that odd. We stand on the blue-line through the Canadian National Anthem. Tonight, Coach is going with our good young goalie, a sixteen year-old name Josh Stafford. We line up for the face-off and Doc crouches over to go toe-to-toe with Cory Stewart.

Stewart wins the face-off for the Frontenacs and the puck slides back to the Frontenacs' defenseman. Carey and I go to work on the Fronts. I skate in hard toward the defenseman with the puck, he slides the puck over to his defence partner who Carey drops, rather unceremoniously, with a body-check. Carey scoops up the puck with his stick and turns on his speed as he heads in on the Kingston goal. I'm with him the whole way. He keeps playing like he's gonna slide the pass across and let me take the shot. He fakes the pass and fires the shot high on the blocker side. The Kingston goalie bats it away and toward the corner of the rink. Carey chases a Kingston defenseman into the corner. But the Kingston defenseman turns and fires a long clearing pass up ice. The force and direction of the pass splits our defence and lands right on Cory Stewart's stick around centre ice.

I've got to catch him and I've been back-peddling at full speed ever since I saw that the Frontenacs' defenseman was going to clear the puck. Cory Stewart maybe the fastest skater in the league, he's at least in the top three. Stafford moves out of the crease to challenge him. I've closed a bit of the gap, Stewart probably only has four strides on me no, which helps Staffs because he knows I can control the rebound if there is any. Stewart makes a hard pump fake like he's going to go to his forehand. Stafford bites and Stewart pulls the deke and moves the backhand. Stafford launches himself back across the net and catches the backhand shot with his glove, keeping it out of the net.

The arena comes to its feet to applaud that save. Staffs holds on to the puck to get a whistle and a stoppage of play. I tap him on the pads as he gets to his feet. "Nice save, Staffs." I encourage him.

"I'm a rookie man, they gotta go easy on me." He jokes. I head off the ice toward the bench. The first period proves to be a bit of a run-and-gun affair. There are quality scoring chances at either end of the ice. Josh is really keeping us in the game. He's faced twelve shots in this period and he's looked solid and in control while stopping every last one of them. There's a face-off in our zone and Coach sends my line over the boards. This time Doc wins the draw and pulls the puck back to Nolan. Nolan slides the puck over to his defence partner, Kyle McWilliam, behind the net. McWilliam waits for Doc who circles around back behind the net and has the puck dropped for him.

Doc picks up speed as he wheels up along the right side with me. He fires a hard cross-ice pass to Carey who's moving with speed up the left hand side. Carey takes the pass at full speed and is burning up into the Kingston zone. I'm able to keep pace with him. Carey slides a pass over to me as we cross into the Kingston zone I carry the puck for about two strides before firing the pass back to Carey who one-times a snap shot into the back of the Kingston goal. 1-0 Kitchener. I meet up with Carey behind the net, to congratulate him with a pat on the back.

Our line heads back to the bench to wait out the remaining forty-one seconds of the period. Eventually, the buzzer goes and we head back to the dressing after one period of play up 1-0. Our team is riding high, but considering that we fought all season to overcome some kind of adversity, whether it was injuries or not having six of our best players for five games over the Christmas break because of the World Juniors, it takes a lot to get our team down.

We all pull our helmets off when we get into the dressing room. We know that there's still forty minutes of hockey to be played but we're pumped. This is the only game in the round robin where we get to wear our blue jerseys, which means it may be the only game of the Memorial Cup where I get to be the Team Captain. American players in the Canadian leagues throw scouts through a loop, normally we dream about hoisting NCAA Championships. But those of us who are here know there's an off-ice value to playing in Canada, it acclimatizes us to the hockey culture. We learn to adopt a club loyalty instead of a geographic loyalty.

The guys are trying to keep the mood light in the room while the coach speaks with the defence. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled with the amount of chances that we gave up in that period. When we hear the buzzer back out over the rink, we slide our helmets back on and head back out toward the ice. The Kingston fans are back on their feet, they want the Frontenacs to keep this game close and we want to take them out of it. Doc lines up for the face-off opposite Cory Stewart again. This time Doc wins the face-off and slides the puck back to Nolan. Nolan works with it for a second before sliding a pass up to me. I take the puck in over the Kingston blue-line and into their zone. Picking up speed as I wheel into the Kingston zone I move in around behind the Kingston net. I'm looking for Carey or Doc out in front of the Kingston net but neither of them are open. So, I fire a pass up to Nolan at the point.

Nolan uses his stick to drag the puck out toward the middle of the ice. He tees up a slap-shot and drives it through an open shooting lane. It hits the Kingston goalie right in the pads but the rebound bounces out front and right on to Doc's stick. Doc throws the rebound into the back of the net over a sprawling Kingston goaltender. 2-0 Kitchener. We skate back to the bench where all the guys tap me on the gloves. In this period, just like last period, Kingston controls the play for ten minutes right in the middle of the period. But just like last period, for all their scoring chances our great young goaltender Josh Stafford seems to have an answer.

Coach sends my line over the boards for our tenth shift of the period with about five minutes left in the period. Nolan has the puck back in our defensive zone and he's slowly moving up ice looking for his options. Eventually, he just crosses centre ice and pounds a slap-shot deep into the Kingston zone. Carey and I give chase on the puck. A Kingston defenseman tries to intercept the puck as is rings its way around the glass. The puck ricochets of the hard plastic of his elbow pad and out to the right side front of the net. The goalie is slow to react, I lay my stick on the puck and fire a shot up under the cross bar of the net. 3-0 Kitchener.

Not a bad game for me. A goal and two assists usually is a good way to start a tournament. We head over to the bench again to get some congratulations before taking what basically is the second half of a shift. Normally, you don't score after only twelve seconds on the ice. Doc takes the face-off, Cory Stewart beats him again and we're back to trying to hold off the Kingston Frontenacs for the remainder of the period. Doc stays glued to Stewart the whole time, there's no way Doc's going to let him anywhere near the front of the net with his stick on the ice. The period ends without the score changing, Kitchener 3 – Kingston 0.

This time, the dressing room's buzzing. Coach is trying to keep our head in the game so that we don't play as if we've already won. Nolan gives me a hard pat on the back as we walk into the room. "That last one was a gift, buddy." He chuckles.

"Yeah, you don't get too many of those." I laugh as I settle down on to the bench, in front of my dressing stall. Coach goes into a speech about how no game is over until the final buzzer sounds. We all nod as we pay attention. This time he leans into the forwards about getting back into the defensive zone harder when the Frontenacs take over the rush. But we all know there's only one guy in the room that's not going to get ripped on by the coach and that's our goalie Josh Stafford.

Josh has been our back up most of the year, but when our starter Ritchie Moran went down with five games left in the season, Josh really stepped up. Ritchie came back after the Guelph series but anyone who knows anything about goaltending knows that when one goalie is playing well, you ride the hot hand. All through the OHL Playoffs, Josh posted a .925 save percentage and a 2.31 Goals Against Average. This kid is only sixteen, he's not even draft eligible for another two years. I give Staffs a pat on the pads with my stick and he nods. Goalies are eccentrics, kind of like drummers, you don't want to screw with their confidence or mess up their pre-show routine. The kid's taken thirty-one shots through two periods and has stopped every one of them.

We head back on to the ice. Twenty minutes stand between us and our first win in the tournament that will stand between us and being the Canadian Major Junior Hockey Champion. Huddy's taking the opening face-off against Cory Stewart this time. Huddy wins and after a few seconds, it becomes clear that Coach is going to use Huddy's line composed of him, Langsy and Chief as a shutdown line against Kingston's big firepower line. It works and on the first shift. Cory Stewart's line doesn't muster a shot.

When coach sends my line over the boards we go to work at making the rubber fly at the Kingston goal to try and even out the shot count. But Kingston's goaltender is no slouch either. In the first ten minutes of the third period, our team fires eleven shots at the Kingston goal but they're all turned away. The pace of the game has slowed down a bit as coach seems to have figured out how to shutdown the Kingston firepower. By the time there's seven minutes left in the period, Spencer Kraft catches the Frontenacs on a change. There's only two Kingston defenders back in their own zone and even though he's a defenseman, Spencer is probably one of the best stick-handlers I know. He executes a nifty little toe-drag of the puck around the first defenseman, he dangles the puck around the second defender and lifts a back-hander over the shoulder of the Kingston goaltender into the net. Kitchener 4 – Kingston 0.

"That was nasty!" Carey enthuses next to me on the bench. "Damn, boy!" He jostles Spencer who comes back to the bench for some congratulations. That last goal takes the air out of Kingston's tires. They play at only half pace for the rest of the period and we win the game 4-0. Three of us are told to wait in the tunnel outside the dressing room for the three stars presentation after the game. Spencer gets named the third star. Even though he only put up one point, he may have scored the goal of the OHL season with that fourth one. My name gets called out as the second star of the game for scoring one goal and adding two assists. The first star was never in doubt, I'll let the Kingston Public Address announcer take it from here. "The First Star of tonight's game with thirty-nine saves on thirty-nine shots, from the Kitchener Rangers number thirty-one, Josh Stafford!" Staffs skates out and gets a curtain call as the game's first star. One game down, at least three to go.


	8. The Gatineau Game MC

I've had one boyfriend in my entire life. I forgot how much fun it can be. You need to understand something, Brad has something of a profile on both sides of the border. He's been in Nike-Bauer hockey ads, he's been in Gatorade ads, he's been in Abercrombie and Fitch ads and he's been in USA Hockey ads. All in all this netted him about just about 5 million dollars in the last eighteen months. This is one of the things that my Grandmother loves about him, it's one of the things that my dad distrusts about him, something about a teenage boy with a lot of money not being a good combination. When we've had a little time since we got here, I've gone shopping, we've toured historical sites, gone on the thousand islands tour and sometimes, just sat and watched hockey games together at the rink.

I've also tried to do a good job at fitting in with the team. They explained that in order for me to really fit in, they've got to haze me a bit. This is why one morning I woke up with shaving cream on my face and then the next morning I woke up to see some of my clothes run up a flag pole. And after getting stern with Brad for a few minutes he explained that I was now an honorary part of the team and that it wouldn't happen ever again. His friends are pretty good guys. Carey and Doc are the clowns; nice and well meaning guys but a little reckless. Spencer is the quiet, intellectual in the group, he's also the shortest one and I'm not sure if those two thing correlate. Josh Stafford is the pup, he's got a mop top of jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, he moderately resembles Paul McCartney back when the Beatles first came to America. He's the kind of guy that most girls my age would want their fifteen year-old sister to have a crush on. Finally, there's Nolan. The group's tower of strength, a guy with no time for ego; his or anyone else's. He always knows when to speak and what to say.

"It's in!" Carey shouts waving a magazine high in the air. The group gathers around the breakfast table in the lobby of the hotel. He slaps the issue of _The Hockey News _down in the middle of the table. On the cover are the words _"Ranger Round-Up: How the OHL's Best Team Gets It Right"_. "It's their Memorial Cup Preview" Carey explains.

"We got it." Nolan jokes. On the cover of the magazine are Brad, Nolan and Josh. Brad is wearing the Ranger blues, standing in profile facing the left but looking over his left shoulder at the camera; Nolan is wearing the Ranger Reds, the third jersey, standing back to back with Brad and looking over his right shoulder at the camera; Josh is standing in the foreground, facing forward wearing the Ranger Whites, looking straight into the camera. In a flurry of pages, the magazine opens to the article.

"This post-season has been one of remarkable achievement for the Kitchener Rangers." Spencer begins to read aloud. He skips a few lines. "The team stalwarts have emerged to take leading roles. Defenseman Nolan White regularly averages thirty-two minutes of ice time per game, he had nineteen points including five goals and a plus/minus rating of plus twelve in twenty OHL playoff games. Fellow team Captain Brad Ross cemented his Top Prospect status for the June Entry Draft by notching forty-one points including seventeen goals in twenty OHL playoff games. But the team surprise has been goaltender Josh Stafford who posted six shutouts in the Rangers' strong playoff run."

Cheers erupt from the group; Doc and Carey hoist Josh up on their shoulders and carry him out of the room in a mock parade. The rest of us chuckle. "So, what are we doing before the game?" I look around the table.

"Well, the three of us," Nolan indicates himself, Spencer and Brad, "just got back from a two hour skate and one hour workout that started at 6:30 this morning. I imagine we were thinking of a few hours of video games."

"Wow, you guys are dull, you know that?" I laugh.

"We're well aware." Spencer nods. "But we work pretty hard, you know?"

"I know, which is why you should have some fun. I'm taking the three of you suit shopping." I chirp happily.

"See, that's one of those things that really sounds like more fun for you than us, babe." Brad answers while taking a sip from his Orange Juice.

"Nolan, you're a first round draft pick on an entry level deal, correct?" I question.

"Yeah." He nods.

"Spencer, you're on an entry level deal for a third round pick, right?" I question again.

"Yeah." Spencer nods.

"And you." I turn to face Brad. "You've got endorsement money out the yin-yang, right?"

"What are you getting at?" Brad retorts.

"The three of you have more money than 99 percent of guys your age and you're acting like Ebenezer Scrooge at the Salvation Army. Let's go have some fun." I explain and the three of them laugh and nod.

"Let me guess, I'm paying for you." Brad jests amid chuckles.

"Of course." I beam a smile at him.

"Alright, well I could use more suit than the one that I have, what about you guys?" Brad turns to his buddies.

"Yeah what the hell, I'm in." Nolan nods enthusiastically.

"Sure, I need more suits than my black suit and my pin stripe black suit." Spencer nods too. The three of us get up from the table and head for the door. There's a great downtown here and these guys are seriously fashion challenged. They're walking around downtown Kingston in track suits that read "Kitchener Rangers" across the back. There's a great tailor and suit shop right across the street from the hotel, I take the guys across the street and get them in the front door. I can't believe that Brad has gone to the last 86 Ranger games wearing the exact same suit. That is one worn out, ugly suit.

"Good evening, mademoiselle, gentlemen, can I help you?" A man walks over who speaks with a French Canadian accent.

"Yeah, each of these three gentlemen need new suits." I step in. "I'm thinking something in blue for this one. I stand next to the salesman and look at Brad. I don't know why, something about the tones of his hair or the lightness of his eyes."

"Ah, oui." The salesman nods.

"For this one," I indicate Nolan, "I don't know, the straw coloured hair makes me think we should try something a little lighter." The salesman nods. I was going to say that I was thinking maybe a light charcoal or wheat tone, but I'll leave it up to them. "Finally for the short one."

"Hey." Spencer retorts monosyllabically.

"I don't know an olive shade might work well with the eyes, he's already got black suits, so let's avoid the darker colours." I advise.

"As you wish, mademoiselle." The salesman nods at me and leads the guys away.

"Does she always do that?" I hear Nolan whisper to Brad.

"Since we were about twelve." Brad nods and laughs. The salesman goes with Nolan while one of his female co-workers goes with Spencer. I take Brad over to his colours. It's kind of weird to treat Brad like a Ken doll, but once in a while it's fun. We're crowded into the big and tall section because my guy is a centimetre or so over six foot three and Nolan is in the neighbourhood of six foot five. Eventually, I've found a few colours I think would work well and I point Brad in the direction of the changing rooms.

I sent him into the room with two brands, one Ralph Lauren and two that the boutique brought in special from Saville Row. Some men are born to wear certain kinds of things, my mom says my dad was born to wear his Navy uniform and a flight-suit, he looks out of place in anything else. My guy, well he was born to wear his jersey over his hockey equipment. I just want to see if he carries a suit as well. I found the perfect colour, it's a very calm Dallas Cowboy kind of blue. He's not a real fashion person, typically the guys just wear black suits to the games and let that be it.

After a few minutes he comes striding out of the dressing room. The English cut doesn't work. It takes away from the breadth of his shoulders and thus, it makes his neck look big…well, bigger. "Don't even bother with the other English cut. Show me the Ralph Lauren."

He goes back into the room and I turn to look through the ties. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Nolan interject and I nod, craning my neck to make sure he can look me in the eye. "Listen, I know that you two are dealing with some issues and that's fine but you've got to stay out of his head on game days. We've got a game tonight against Gatineau, it's big because it guarantees us an elimination round birth. It's big for him because for the next few days, scouts from every team in the NHL is going to be here. Everything about his life is going to be dissected by scouts in the next month. They want to know how much he eats, how much he sleeps, how much he works out, what kind of team-mate he is, what kind of leader he is and on top of all that, how talented he is. If he appears distracted for a game, or like he's coasting they're gonna know and they're gonna dock him for it."

I'm struck by the direness of his tone. "What makes you care so much?"

"I met him last year when we both played for the American World Junior team, I knew he was talented and I could tell he was a good kid. I convinced him to come to Kitchener since we drafted him and so he came. Coach asked me to mentor him and keep his ego tethered to the ground, so I did that. Over the last eighteen months or so, he's become like my little brother and I want to see him do really well." Nolan explains. "I like you and him. You're great for him, probably better than any other person on the planet but for these next few days, if you're in his head, you are the most dangerous person on the planet as far as his future is concerned."

"I'm not sure I like what you just said." I reply weakly.

"I hate what I just said. I like seeing my little bro happy, I hope when all this is over the two of you ride off into the sunset together and do God knows whatever it is you would do. But the next five weeks before the draft are going to be stress hell for this kid. The next few days are going to be the most intense of all. Just try and stay out of his head, okay?"

"Yeah." I nod quickly. I turn back toward the dressing room and Brad comes walking out in the Ralph Lauren. He looks great from head to toe. I don't know why the blue looks so good on him. His hair's a very light chestnut brown, his eyes are a crisp hazel and he's not pale. And yet the blue. "Very nice." I whistle at him and the blush creeps into his cheeks. He works very hard to keep his ego in check; he fails more often than he'll admit but he at least tries.

"Thank you." He smiles at me. "By the way, Kate called while I was in the dressing room. She's coming up here after the Gatineau game and staying for the rest of the tournament. Why my agent's coming, I don't know but my agent is coming." He muses.

"Okay, well we'll see her when she gets here I imagine. Now, go take the suit off and pay for it." I tell him in a very schoolmarm-ish kind of way. He laughs and turns back toward the changing rooms.

I've got to head down to the arena soon. The guys have already gone. They head down there about two and a half hours early to warm up for the game. Some of the guys will kick the soccer ball around; Brad likes to play ping-pong with the goalies to warm up their reflexes. I've already got my ticket, Brad made sure I was sitting with the Kitchener Rangers Booster Club so that when I cheered Ranger goals, I wasn't summarily lynched by surrounding Gatineau and Kingston fans. I'm making sure that my hair looks right. I'm still struggling with hockey etiquette. I want my hair to look nice but like Brad says, if it looks too nice, everyone around me will know I don't belong. I open the drawer to the nightstand and I see a white, folded Rangers jersey with my name on a yellow post-it note attached to the front.

_"Wear it, you'll fit in."_ He's written on the back. A few months ago he left me a very nice letter on the morning when he had to leave Philadelphia after the World Junior Championships. He wrote about how he loved looking into my eyes, or the feel of my skin or how he liked that we were able to be so honest with each other. I should stress that Shakespeare he ain't but it doesn't matter as long as he means what he says. He left the decision about whether or not we'll be a couple, in my hands and I don't know what to do.

On the one hand, he's right. Medical school is a huge commitment, it's pretty much a life of celibacy for the duration. Now, that's an exaggeration, I know a lot of people manage relationships, work and even kids while going through school but I will admit that I'm not that accomplished a multi-tasker. I've always been of the opinion that when the juggler has too many balls in the air, one's going to land hard on his head. He's also right that he's about to undergo the hardest leap of his hockey career. The day after the draft, no one's going to care that last year's OHL rookie of the year, this year's OHL Scoring Champion with 162 points in 61 games, the Captain of this year's gold medal winning Team USA World Junior Squad was a top five draft pick because none of it matters going forward. It'll be all about how he does at the Development Camp in late August, how he does at Training Camp in September and then how he does if he makes the team or gets sent down to their farm team.

There's an argument to be made and the logical side of my brain makes it all the time that this is the absolute worst time for the two of us to get involved with anyone, much less each other. My logical side argues that there are two circumstances in an ideal world. The first is that we postpone any hopes of a relationship until he's for sure got a roster spot in the NHL and I'm through the majority of my medical training. The second would be that we simply go our separate ways, I meet some nice future doctor in med school and maybe over time, my thoughts of the chestnut haired superstar fade. While he gets drafted, maybe by Philadelphia or by Dallas or the Rangers or Colorado and spends a few years as the city's darling athlete wherever he ends up. Maybe he meets a young nurse or a lawyer or teacher or whatever. And somewhere between the dream vacations and the cozy dates and the covers of tabloids, they fall madly in love and he forgets his feelings for me.

But my emotions say that won't happen. That somewhere along the line, even if we end up dating different people we'll meet up somewhere. Maybe at one of his brothers' weddings or one of mine. We'll get to talking, we'll get to laughing, we'll get to kissing it'll turn into screwing and that means cheating. And we'll both feel bad afterward but it doesn't mean we'll stop. If all this sounds like a Tennessee Williams play I understand but there's something about him and me. It foregoes explanation and division. I'm supposed to understand and make a decision about what kind of future we could have together and I don't know that I can do that.

I pull the white Rangers jersey over my head. Damn him, he does know hockey colours. The white jersey looks really good on me. Something about the red collar works well with my skin, I never thought I looked good in red or white, maybe I'm wrong. I can't stop thinking about him, about how natural it was the night we got here. I'll admit that I've never been a part of that kind of passion before. My lips, his tongue, his hands, my skin the memories of every sensation from that night has melded into one. It's tough to explain how I feel when he lays next to me.

I head out of the hotel room with the jersey on and a pair of jean shorts cut off at my knees. The whole city is abuzz. A flood of people converge on the doors to the arena. I show my ticket to the usher and she directs me to the section where my seat is located. I'm sitting in a sea of blue and white Kitchener Ranger jerseys, there must be two or three hundred around me. The arena goes dark and the blue spotlights appear over the tunnels that the teams are supposed to use to skate on to the ice. The Gatineau Olympiques skate on to the ice first, wearing these pretty ugly black, orange and purple jerseys with a big Olympic torch crest on the front.

The intro to _Eye of the Tiger_ plays as the Rangers take to the ice opposite the Olympiques. The Rangers are wearing their whites, which means that Brad has a blue 'A' on his left shoulder instead of the red 'C' he wears when they wear the blues. "Ladies and Gentlemen would you please rise as the Queen's University 'Singing Gaels' barbershop quartet performs the national anthem."

The entire arena is on its feet. For these people, there's nothing odd about this. For American players it has to be a little weird. They don't mean to disrespect the country that has graciously hosted them, certainly. Maybe in their own way they're adopting some small form of Canadian-ness but it still must be weird to not hear _The Star Spangled Banner_. When the carpet is rolled up and put away, the referee blows his whistle and it brings the starting lines of the two teams to centre ice for the opening face-off. Doc goes in against the Gatineau player and Gatineau wins the face-off.

From what I've learned in the last few years, there are two kinds of face-offs: the ones that you want to win, which comprises 99 percent of face-offs; and the ones you want to lose so that you can set a physical tempo for the game. This face-off definitely fell in the latter category. The Gatineau forwards are small and fast, which usually works against big guys but Kitchener's big guys are fast, so they're just taking the body to Gatineau right off the bat. The young Quebec league players are hitting the ice like falling bricks. For the forty-five seconds or so that Brad's line is on the ice, it doesn't even look like they're trying to score, they're just trying to be as physically punishing as humanly possible.

For the entire first period, it never appears as if Kitchener's trying to score, in fact they only muster five shots all period as opposed to ten for Gatineau but none of the shots that Gatineau musters has a chance of getting passed Josh Stafford who looks cool and composed. Normally, in the games I've seen, Brad and Carey play a lot of run and gun offence but right now they're just playing big body hockey, trying to intimidate the Gatineau Olympiques.

By the first intermission, the game is a little more even, the shots 11-9 in favour of Gatineau but the Rangers are firmly in control of the game. I don't know all that much about hockey but I imagine that when they come out in the next period, they'll come out and play a more offensive game. I go for a walk around the arena. I've always heard the guys rant and rave about arena hot dogs and popcorn. I ask for a hot dog and a Coke and I hand over a Canadian ten dollar bill in exchange for the food. For once it's going to be nice to eat a hot dog without Brad making a bunch of double entendres.

"Excuse me, are you Sasha Rabb?" I hear a voice behind me ask.

"According to my driver's license." I reply. "Who are you?"

"Bob Sherman, head of player development for the Dallas Stars." He hands me his card. "Can I ask you a few questions about Brad Ross?"

"I suppose so." I reply suspiciously.

"Now don't' worry about trying to couch your responses to appear non-biased, you have a bias and that's fine. I'm paid to be cynical." He laughs. "How much time does he spend in the gym?"

"A few hours after practices." I reply. "They don't have a gym here so he and the boys have taken to running about four miles every morning before practice."

"Really? What time do they get up to do that?" The scout sounds in disbelief.

"Like five." I reply simply.

"They really want this tournament, huh?" The scout laughs and shakes his head.

"Don't all the guys here?" I answer.

"Good answer." He chuckles again. "Just one last question, and I'll let you get back to the game. Who do you think he wants to be drafted by?"

Oh God, there's a tough question. I know who I want him to be drafted by. I know that Brad is a Philadelphia Flyers fan and has been since he could speak but over the last few days, he's accepted that the Flyers will draft around 17th Overall and that's too late in the draft for them to pick him. "I don't know." I answer honestly. "I think he just wants to be a pro so bad that he'd wear Spartak Moscow's jersey if they drafted him."

The scout laughs again. "Enjoy the rest of the game." He smiles and heads off to join the rest of the scouts standing along the rail. I take a few steps down the stairs back toward my seat as the buzzer goes signalling the start of the second period. Brad's line starts the second period on the bench. I don't know why the Coach is keeping his top scorers on the bench but he's doing it. The big checking line for Kitchener continues to just hammer away at Gatineau in an attempt to back them off. About two minutes into the first period, Brad's line hops over the boards for the first time in the period. Doc wins the face-off and sends the puck back to Nolan who moves back into the defensive zone. Nolan fires a cross ice pass to his defensive partner, Kyle McWilliam. Kyle moves back in behind the Kitchener goal. Brad skates in hard to join Kyle behind the net and Kyle drops a pass for him. Brad takes the puck and begins to stickhandle his way up ice along the boards on the right hand side.

You can watch his eyes search the ice for targets to pass the puck to. He sees Carey Moore streaking in behind the Gatineau defence and Brad cascades a pass through the air, about eight inches of the ice in Carey's direction. The pass lands right on the tape of Carey's stick. Brad always says that Carey is one of the three fastest skaters in the league, when he gets the pass he takes off toward the Gatineau goal. Carey's thinking of a move on this one, you can tell that he's trying to open up a hole in the goalie's armour. He's getting close in on the goal now and no one in the rink knows what he's going to do but we're all holding our breath. Carey fires a hard, heavy wrist shot high to the goaltender's stick side. The goalie takes a stab at it to keep it out of the net but it tickles the twine behind him and the red light goes on behind the net. 1-0 Kitchener!

Carey skates back toward the bench and gets high fives from everyone on the bench before getting back in formation for the face-off. "Kitchener goal, his second of the tournament and fourteenth of the playoffs scored by number ninety-four, Carey Moore. Assists to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross and number three, Kyle McWilliam." The public address announcer informs the arena.

The middle of the period consists mostly of Gatineau forwards trying to get the tying goal and being beaten either by the Kitchener defence at the blue-line or by Josh Stafford if they actually get the shot on goal. The Rangers are, to some extent, trading chances with the Olympiques in an attempt to pad their lead but at the other end of the ice, Andre Drapeau is standing tall in the Gatineau net. Brad seems to be making an attempt at showing off his playmaking side. In this period alone, he's sprung three different team-mates for breakaways. The last one developed into a two-on-one as Doc jumped into the rush along with Carey and was hauled down by a Gatineau defender as he tried to take a pass.

The Kitchener power-play took to the ice with Brad and Nolan manning the point. Doc wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Brad. Brad wires a hard shot on goal that hits Drapeau in the shoulder and bounces up over the net. Huddy is on the puck behind the net and he slides a pass over to Doc at the half-boards. Doc hesitates for a second before flitting a pass back to Nolan at the point. Nolan winds up a shot before thinking better of it and sliding a pass over to Brad. Brad pump fakes a wrist-shot before sliding a no-look pass over to Nolan. Nolan tees up a slap-shot and burns one on net. Carey deflects the puck in front of the net, fooling goaltender Drapeau and scoring another goal. 2-0 Kitchener.

The PA announcer gives Carey credit for the goal and gives assists to Nolan and Brad. The remaining minute and twenty-four seconds are played out with a mulled intensity as the second period fades into memory and all the fans go for a stretch during the second intermission. I never know really what to do with myself during an intermission; it's eighteen minutes of complete blasé. I could sit here just twiddling my thumbs and thinking but that's perhaps more interminable than actually trying to do something. Naturally, my mind wanders to the schoolwork that I'm missing for the whole week while I'm here. I've got a bad case of senior-itis. I'm over 90 in every one of my subjects right now, I've got early acceptance to Harvard for next fall and I'm writing my valedictorian address for June in my spare time. But I still feel bad about missing a week of class. Not that bad really, just enough that it picks at my mind once in a while. I wring my hands a little and stare down at the ice. It's a little awkward to be alone in the stands. All the people I know are in a dressing room on the other side of the rink right now. Back when Brad played high school, all my friends would sit together with me at the games.

I don't like just sitting here but I can't think of anything else to do. But luckily my quiet introspection seems to have killed quite a bit of time. The ice is cleaned and the teams are heading back out for the third period. This time Brad and his line start the period for Kitchener. Gatineau comes hard at Kitchener early on in an attempt to get back into the game but the Rangers are doing a good job shutting them down. Gatineau just doesn't have the size to get passed the Ranger blue-line and looking across the rink at all the purple Gatineau jerseys in the stands, I think their booster club is starting to recognize that. By the halfway point of the third period, the shots are 32-23 in favour of Kitchener and even though he hasn't had to be fantastic in doing so, Josh Stafford has stopped every shot again.

With five minutes and change left in the period, the Rangers have the Olympiques hemmed down in their own defensive zone. Brad is manning an empty spot on the point while Nolan jumps in down low for the play. When the puck is down behind the Gatineau net, Brad skates to the bench for a change and Spencer hops over the boards on to the ice. The puck squirts loose from the scrum behind the net and it makes its way toward the top of the circle. Spencer is on it like a fat kid on a tortilla. He fires a hard wrist shot on the net. The puck makes its way through the crowd of bodies and ends up in the net behind Drapeau. 3-0 Kitchener. Gatineau will try to get closer in the remaining five minutes but fail to generate the kind of pressure they would have needed.

With the Memorial Cup, the guys take longer to get back to the hotel after games. Brad's usually one of the guys pulled aside by interviewers for post-game interviews and he usually signs a few autographs for some kids who hang around the arena exits with their hockey cards or jerseys or whatever they want him to sign. We're only a few blocks from the rink, so it's not a long walk for them to get back here. I've changed out of my jeans and into some pyjama shorts to get ready for bed.

I'm watching a movie I ordered off the pay-per-play system with the hotel. Suddenly I hear the sound of someone jiggering with the doorknob. The door pops open. Brad steps into the room, closes the door behind him, pulls off his jacket, tie, shirt, belt, shoes and pants and takes a flying leap on to the bed. He reaches over and pulls me on top of him. "Well hello to you, too." I giggle as I lay on top of him. He puts one hand at the back of my neck and our lips meet. I don't know how but somehow this kind of silent lust that's obviously been working through his body since he got off the ice.

"Hey, wait a second; I have seen you in the jersey yet." He smiles. "Wanna give me a little thrill?"

"I thought I was." I reply coyly and cast a slow but noticed glance downward at his groin. I climb of the bed and walk across the room to the chair I draped the jersey on when I got home. Keeping my back to him, I pull my t-shirt over my head. There's something about my naked back, I don't know what it is but it drives him wild. I pull the white jersey over my head and then just to get to him a little more. I reach up under the jersey, stick my thumbs under the waist of my panties and push them to the floor. I hear the creak of him getting off the bed. I think I may have pushed this little tease of mine beyond the limits of his self-restraint. I feel those big arms wrap around my waist and spin me around. "You like?"

"You have no idea." He kind of growls. The heat is just getting unbearable. It consumes us again and our lips meet. One thought enters my mind. I wonder if this qualifies as violating curfew for him?


	9. The Everett Game MC

You know what? I can really get used to these week long vacations during the school year. I got to run with Nolan, Spencer and Josh this morning. Carey, Doc and Brad along with the Coach are in Toronto doing some kind of sports panel show and they weren't expected back until after two. I went for a quick trip down to the sauna for a few minutes and right now I feel refreshed and yet, I don't know what I can do with the rest of my day right now? After we got back from our run, the clouds burst and it's pouring rain outside. The guys want to watch the Everett-Kingston game tonight at the arena just so they can know what kind of team they'll be playing come Thursday night when they have to face-off against Everett. They're kind of boring that way; they live, breathe and sleep hockey. After this week, Spencer and Nolan will be sent off to Hartford and Philadelphia to do battle against each other in the AHL playoffs. Those two guys are closer than brothers, have been for the last three years but in five days they'll be facing off against each other in a best-of-seven playoff series.

It's only like a twenty-five minute plane ride from Toronto to Kingston, so provided they didn't get hung up on traffic getting to the airport, they should be home any time now. I flip on the TV to catch the four of them on the panel show. Obviously they're running the taped version. The guys are laughing and talking about how the Leafs and Canucks are terrible this year; how the Montreal Canadiens are a favourite to win the Cup…again and how they'll probably beat Chicago in the final; what the Penguins need to do in order to solve Montreal's goaltending and a host of other things. 

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you." I hear a familiar and slightly off key voice ring through the hallway. "Remember I'll always be true." I walk over to the door and open it so see him dancing down the hall way. His eyes catch mine and he belts out the next line. "And then while I'm away, I'll write home everyday and I'll send all my loving to you." He ends right in front of my face and leans forward to place a quick kiss on my lips. "I heard you went for a run today."

"That's not the next line in the song." I joke.

"Funny…" He muses as he steps passed me into the room. "I was great on TV today, I think I nailed it!"

"I saw it, you aren't a little worried about being typecast as only being able to talk hockey?" I question as I close the door.

"Well, I wanted to talk about Macro-Keynesian economics, the impact of the International Monetary Fund on the developing world and Augustinian epistemology but they were worried it might be a drag on ratings." He flops down on the bed. "A little more than twenty-four hours before I've got to be ready to skate my legs off against Everett. I don't know what to do with myself."

"I was having exactly the same problem before you got here." I lay down next to him on the bed. "No sex." I warn. He feigns shock. "You were thinking it."

"I think about it once every seven seconds." He replies. "And some of the positions you take in those fantasies, my God woman, you might kill me." I laugh and playfully punch his pectoral.

"You were the one who decided on the chair last night." I protest.

"A long standing fantasy of mine when it comes to you." He answers and kisses my forehead. "Remind me to buy Nolan a car for getting you up here for this week."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. Maybe you should fix him up with Samantha DiDiomete, they'd get a kick out of each other, I think." I theorize as we just lay here staring up at the ceiling.

"Nolan's got a girlfriend back in Kitchener. A tiny redhead named Becky. It amuses the rest of the team, he's six foot five and she's like four foot eleven." He laughs. "I have a question, your parents know you're here, right?" 

"My mom does, my dad's travelling with a Congressional Delegation through East Asia right now and my mom figured that the best way to prevent him from going off on the President of South Korea was to…" I trail off a bit.

"Implement a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy?" He jests. "Why does your dad seem to have taken a very sudden, very sharp dislike to me? Wasn't he the one who helped my put the carburetor in my car last summer?"

"You're seventeen, almost eighteen, you have expressed both a romantic and sexual interest in his only daughter, and you're a very attractive man with a very bright future and money to burn. He's not pissed at you…well, he's kind of pissed at you. He's more pissed at the fact that I'm growing up and I picked a good guy that, try though he might, he can't hate." I snuggle up against his chest. "I think he's trying to keep me at twelve years-old forever."

"You going to come to the Everett-Kingston game tonight?" He asks in a low whisper.

"I don't know, the idea of standing around the rail with you and the boys watching you rot your teeth with Coke and pick at stale nachos and bad cheese." I laugh a little. "Besides, when you're not playing, I find hockey kind of tough to watch."

"Blasphemy!" He jokes and puts on a deep baritone voice. I giggle again. 

"Aren't you worried that this is just for here?" I chance. "That for these few days here in Kingston we get to be what a part of us has wanted to be for a long time but when we get back to D.C. we're going to go back to being the way we were? You know, with the uncomfortable silences and the sexual tension and the knowing glances."

He pulls me close. "One way or another, I'm sure what happens, what has happened here will change things. The reason that I told you that I wanted you to make the decision back in January was because I knew you would make the right decision. I left it in your hands because I remembered all the times that we got close before and I walked away. I figured it was only fair that I stand out on that limb this time and give you the option of cutting it out from under me or not."

"And that's fair in your mind?" I ask.

"Not everything in life is fair." He replies. "Almost nothing in life is fair actually. There are kids here in Canada who would kill to have the skills I have on a hockey rink. Most of them have more passion for the game than I do, but I was born with an inherent amount of skill that they just lack. It's not fair to them but it is what it is. My dad taught us, when we were all very young that you should always read the Irish writers. I don't know why, there was something about emotional complexity and verbose simplicity. Two quotes just came to my mind, one was Oscar Wilde, he said 'They ruin every romance by trying to make it last forever'. The other one is also Oscar Wilde but I think I kind of describes the way I've seen you for a long time: 'A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world'. It may seem some kind of romantic intoxication to compare you to the moonlight but it's the kind of nervous, anticipatory energy I get when I'm around you." He kisses the top of my head. "I don't want you to make a decision while we're here. I'm not going to stop you from doing it, but I think we should be removed from what these few days are for us before we make a definitive choice." He slides out from under me and walks over to the dresser. "For now, I'm gonna head down to the pool and swim a few laps to keep up the muscle fitness for tomorrow's game. I'll see you in about an hour."

Sure enough, he went downstairs to the pool and swam laps for more than forty-five minutes. He came upstairs, dried off his hair and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. A knock comes at the door while the two of us are watching television on the bed. Brad gets up and walks over to the door. "Hey Nolan, what's up?" He leans on the door.

"Bunch of us are going to watch the game at a pub down the street tonight, they've got the game, three dollar pitchers and live music after the game." Nolan explains. "Sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than leaning on a wrought iron rail, eating stale popcorn and drinking bad expensive beer. Besides, if Kingston wins, then we have a slightly less-gruelling schedule over the remaining four days. If Everett wins, we'll at least have one night of fun under our belts."

"I'm glad I learned how to argue from you." Brad laughs. "Hey honey, you wanna go to a pub tonight?"

"I'm pretty sure we're both below the drinking age, even in Canada." I reply with a concerned smile.

"First, ain't anybody going to tell Brad he can't drink, he's more loved in Canada than the Mounties for God's sake." Nolan jokes. "We don't need to drink to have fun anyway, this bar has great poutine and fantastic nachos. It's got great Irish atmosphere, live music and we get to watch the game on a big TV, it's great."

"We'll be there." Brad nods, shakes hands with Nolan and closes the door.

"_We'll_ be there, huh?" I walk over and trap him between me and the door. 

"You would rather my friends drag me out to a bar alone where a collection of local puck bunnies will make no end of shoving their cleavage in my face?" He replies and I roll my eyes at him.

"Fine, I guess I'll go." I sound exasperated but really a small part of me kind of likes it when he takes charge like that……do I have to turn in my feminist membership card now? Another knock comes to the door.

"Nolan, what is it now?" Brad grunts as he turns back to the door and opens it wide.

"Nolan pestering my favourite client?" Kate Henderson, Brad's agent, is on the other side of the door. She pulls him into a hug and gives him a pat on the back. "I hear you've got a goal and four assists in the first two games of this tournament and that you're playing Everett tomorrow."

"Yeah, so?" I question.

"Playoff performance is everything to General Managers come draft day but you're playing with some of the biggest blue-chipper prospects in the game. Cory Stewart, Marcus Grundler, hell you're even skating alongside Nolan White, this is the showcase for you before the June Draft." Kate explains. "You're here." She looks over his shoulder, right at me.

"Nice to see you again, Kate." I smile quickly.

"Yeah, Nolan decided to surprise me by organizing this little vacation for her, really it was an awful nice thing for him to do." Brad smiles. "We're all heading out to some Irish pub to watch the game in a few minutes; you want to come with us?"

"I'm sure that you all have better things to do than be escorted around town by a thirty-something agent." Kate smiles at him fondly. "But I did just have a very fond discussion with the Assistant General Manager of the Vancouver Canucks concerning you. He seems to think you're able to leap small buildings in a single bound."

"Only if I have a running start." Brad jokes. "Vancouver's a great city and they're hockey crazies of course."

"Few teams that have no chance at the first overall pick are calling my office pretty regularly. I'm hearing from Assistant General Managers from Carolina, Columbus, Philadelphia, the New York Rangers…you seem to be pretty popular, kid." She smiles at him. Why wouldn't she? He's a real meal ticket for her since his deal with her entitles her to something like eight percent of whatever contract he signs. After a few more minutes of business chat, Kate leaves the room. 

"Why did you invite her to the pub, I'm not sure she likes me." I question.

"Oh, I know she doesn't like you." He replies. "But I figure it's because she doesn't know you." He thumps down on the bed and begins to tie his shoes. "Everyone who knows you, likes you. I figured she would too."

"Maybe you're right." I shrug. "Are you gonna get ready to go, or what?"

We walk into this pub and it has the same kind of feel you get from almost any old Irish pub, it's like your drinking in a cave. We take up a seat where we can see both the stage and the TV. "Would you all like to look at some menus?" Our hostess asks. We all nod and she runs over to the bar and grabs a few. She hands them out. 

"Now remember, no booze for either of the two of you." Nolan instructs Brad and Josh.

"Why do you and Carey get any?" I question.

"Well, I'm nineteen." Nolan answers.

"And I got a fake." Carey flashes the ID. "Besides, any cops who stumble in here are gonna know that Captain America over here," he points to Brad, "and Josh aren't nineteen."

"Good point." I reply. "So, what exactly is poutine?"

"It's French fries covered with cheese curds and hot gravy. Ideally the temperature of the gravy is such that it melts the cheese over the fries." Nolan explains.

"It's like a million calories." Brad adds.

"Okay…no thanks." I reply, my hands subconsciously moving to my hips. "I don't think I want to exercise hard enough to work all that off."

"I swear, if you're about to have a self-conscious weight moment, I'm going to start bragging about how hot you are to these guys." Brad jumps in. 

"You're threatening me with embarrassment?" I question.

"I am, it's been known to work in the past." He replies.

"Why does the coach refer to the four of you as 'The Beatles' when you go somewhere collectively?" I ask.

"It all started when Coach realized that Josh looked like a young Paul McCartney. Then he started hanging out with the three of us who were close-knit from last season. Carey's kind of the goof, so he's Ringo; Nolan's the quiet one, so he's George and Coach thought I was the leader of the group, so naturally that made me John." Brad explains simply. "I think the nachos, what do you guys think?"

"The nachos are great here." Nolan replies. "I'm getting a beer and the poutine."

"Sounds good to me." Carey adds on. 

"Fish and chips." Josh coolly remarks.

"Chicken wings." I mutter. Our waitress is standing over us and takes down our order. The guys look up to the screen to see the puck drop for the Everett-Kingston game. "Who do you guys actually want to win the game?" I question.

"Kingston." Brad, Nolan and Carey answer. "We've played the a lot, we know we can beat them."

"Everett." Josh answers. "Championship games are only fun for the audience if there's some suspense involved. Good theatre sells tickets, it gets ratings."

"This coming from the kid who has stopped something like 78/78 shots so far in this tournament." Nolan remarks sarcastically. 

"Well, most of it's luck." Josh chuckles. With the game on, the boys barely seems to acknowledge anything else in the bar but the television. When the food comes, they don't even acknowledge the waitress. Their hands just periodically drop down and pick up some food. They comment on mistakes they see in the other teams' games. They'll point out problems with Everett's fore-check or problems with Kingston's defence corps. A girl could get a complex after being lavished with compliments for a while and then subject to almost complete silence for 55 minutes. 

When intermission finally hits, the boys turn away from the TV and back toward the middle of the table. Kingston is up 2-0 on the big bad boys from out west, the Everett Silvertips. "Everett can't get any pressure on this, the problem with bringing in a sixteen year-old like Billy Gillis to lead the team in scoring is that eventually he's going to have to match-up and he hasn't." Nolan comments. The rest of the guys all nod. The band takes to the stage to play for the twenty minutes of the intermission. They spent the last five minutes of the period testing their microphones and tuning their instruments. Once the intermission starts, they start playing some great Celtic tunes. They've got a female lead singer who also seems to be able to play just as mean a fiddle as her band's main fiddler. They perform solid versions of _When Irish Eyes Are Smiling_, _Molly Malone _and _Barrett's Privateers._ The last song has the boys clapping, stomping and singing along with the band. 

When the second period starts, the band stops playing and they walk over and join us at the table. "You guys weren't bad for back-up singers." The singer sits down. "I'm Erin. That's Jake," she points to her percussionist, "John" she points to her fiddler, "and Jeremy," she points to her guitarist. 

"Jake, John and Jeremy, huh? What do you guys call your band?" I question.

"The Jaybirds." Erin replies with a fast smile.

"Of course." I laugh. "Well, I'm Sasha and this is…" I go to point to the rest of the guys but the fiddler cuts me off. 

"We know who they are; ya'd almost have to be livin' under a rock in this town for the last month not to know who they are." John explains. "You guys are scouting Everett from a pub, that wouldn't be better served up the street at the rink?"

"You'd be surprised." Nolan replies as he takes a sip of his beer. "TV camera catches some things you miss when you're standing along the rails."

"Of course you catch some things up on the rails that the camera misses, so that's why the Coach is at the game." Josh adds.

"I loved your version of _Molly Malone_ by the way." Nolan's eyes meet up with Erin's. "Play a little fiddle myself, so I was especially impressed."

"Well, thanks." The redhead replies coyly. "Maybe you could join me for a tune in the next intermission?"

"Fantastic idea." Nolan has this sly grin on his face. I look at Brad who just nods and smiles like he's trying to restrain a fond laugh.

"I thought Nolan had a girlfriend." I whisper to him.

"I thought he did, too." Brad whispers back.

"This is the most I've heard these guys talk while the play is in action." I tell Erin and the two of us have a laugh of our own. Sure enough, when we turn back, all the y chromosomes are gazing longingly into the television. The guys seem encapsulated in the action of the game for the rest of the period. I laugh a little as I watch Brad grimace when Everett scores on a Marcus Grundler shot from the blue-line on the power-play. At the end of the second period, Kingston still leads Everett but the score is 2-1. Another intermission starts and Erin drags Nolan, Jake and Jeremy up on stage. Erin hands him the fiddle.

"Do ya know _Mary Mac_, lass?" Nolan asks her as he warms up his fingers.

"Do _I_ know _Mary Mac?_" Erin scoffs at him and plays a little bit of a challenging riff to get Nolan in a competitive mood. Jake counts the band in on his drum and Erin and Jeremy begin to play. Nolan belts out the lyrics.

_There's a neat little lass and her name is Mary Mac  
And make no mistake she's the girl I'm gonna track  
Lots of other fellas try to get her on the back.  
But I'm thinkin' they'll have to get up early. _

Erin stands in next to Nolan to sing the chorus with him. From the speed with which Nolan just sang, I'm guessing this is one of the faster ditties. 

_(Chorus)_

_Mary Mac's mother's making Mary Mac marry me_

_My Mother's making me marry Mary Mac_

_Oh, I'm gonna marry Mary cause when Mary's takin' care of me_

_We'll all be feeling merry when I marry Mary Mac_

After singing the chorus together, Nolan and Erin go into a real duel of fiddles before he launches into the next verse.

_Now Mary and her mother are an awful lot together  
In fact you hardly see the one without the other  
And people often wonder if it's Mary or her mother  
Or both of them together I'm courting_

The two of them sound really angry as they belt out the next round of the chorus together at an even faster tempo. I can hear the crackle of electricity between the big Kitchener defenseman and the little Kingston musician on stage but I'm not going to say anything just yet. Nolan gets the next verse as well.

_Well up among the heather in the hills of Benafee  
Well I had a Bonnie lass sittin' on my knee  
A bumble bee stung me right above the knee  
Up among the heather in the hills of Benafee_

The two of them rejoin at the microphone to sing the chorus and Brad leans over to whisper in my ear. "Is it just me or are the two of them eye-fucking the shit out of each other? And excuse my language, love." He kisses my cheek.

"I'm not sure it's eye-screwing, it's like two carnivores that are about to angrily devour each other." I reply with a little giggle. They finish the chorus and move on to the next verse. Nolan still singing at an increasing tempo.

_Well I said to bonnie lass how we gonna pass the day  
She said among the heather in the hills of Benafee  
Where all the boys and girls are making out so free  
Up among the heather in the hills of Benafee_

This time, the energy is still there between the two of them but they seem to be focused on their instruments. Nolan never plays while he's singing and either does Erin, it would be too tough to balance the fiddle otherwise. After the chorus, Erin steps up to the microphone to sing the next verse while Nolan continues to play.

_Wedding's on a Wednesday, everything's arranged  
Soon you'll never change your mind unless you minus change  
Of making the arrangements and feelings lots of rage  
Marriage is an awful undertaking_

We all join in this rendition of the chorus, it's a bit of a tongue-twister, especially at the tempo they're expecting from us but I think we managed it alright. This time, when she steps up to the microphone, Erin is still trying to catch her breath and she pushes some of her long red hair out of her face.

_Sure to be a grand for grand of that a fair  
Gonna be a fork and plate for every man that's there  
And I'll be a bugger if I don't get my share  
All though I may be very much mistaken_

They go one more turn through the chorus before finishing the song. Nolan and Erin are both panting for air by the end like two tired lovers after well…Nolan strides across the stage hard puts a hand at the crook of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. Everyone in the bar gets up on their feet for a standing ovation. 

By the end of the night, we've all had a lot of fun. The guys don't even seem to mind that Everett beat Kingston 3-2.

It's the next night and I'm getting ready to watch the Kitchener-Everett game in my room along with Brad's agent, Kate. The team couldn't wrangle tickets for either of us. Most of the organized scouting world will be in attendance for this game as will sizeable fan contingents from both Kitchener and Everett, as well as a healthy slice of the Kingston locals of course. I have yet to see a Kitchener game solely over the television but it's sure to be an experience. I'm wearing a set of Marine sweats that I bought last time I was with Dad on the Annapolis campus. I'm munching lightly out of a bowl of popcorn. There's a video montage that leads into the start of the game. It shows pieces of past Kitchener games and Everett games so I'll see snippets of Brad scoring a nice goal or Nolan throwing a big body-check or Josh making a big save and it's all to the tune of a hard rock version of _Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting._

"It's Friday evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the K-Rock Centre in Kingston, Ontario for this final round robin match that pits the Kitchener Rangers against the Everett Silvertips." The commentator announces. "This game is part of Sportsnet's continuing coverage of the 2020 MasterCard Memorial Cup. In goal for the Kitchener Rangers tonight, he is starting as he has every one of Kitchener's first twenty-two games in this post season, Josh Stafford. Stafford comes in with a record of 18 wins and 4 losses with a 2.19 Goals Against Average and a .937 Save Percentage in that span. At the other end is Everett's Mitchell Blake. Blake comes into the game with a record of 18 wins and 10 losses with a 3.01 Goals Against Average and a .903 Save Percentage.

I watch as the two teams line up at centre ice for the opening face-off. Doc wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Kyle McWilliam on the blue-line. Kyle plays with the puck for a second before sliding a pass over to Brad who has curled back to quarterback the rush. He carries the puck across the Everett blue-line before firing the puck around the boards to Carey Moore who's behind the net. Carey moves the puck back to Nolan at the blue-line. Nolan initiates the cycle by playing the pass over to his defensive partner. 

The TV crew covering the game does a quick pan over to the Everett bench where you can see the Everett coach shouting at the top of his lungs. He doesn't like that the Rangers have been able to hem him in so easily or that his team looks so flat-footed. Brad moves up to the half-boards on the right side. Kyle moves hard like he's going to pass to Brad before firing a pass back over to Nolan. Nolan plays up the slap-shot before firing a hard pass over to Brad who has moved in from the boards toward the middle of the ice. Brad one touches the hard pass down to Carey at the left side of the net. Carey moves into the pass, fakes out the Everett goaltender, moves the puck to his backhand and fires a shot just under the crossbar into the Everett goal. 1-0 Kitchener.

"What a play!" The commentator on the TV says. "The Rangers just had the Silvertips running around on that play."

"The play I really like, Pierre is that one touch pass by Ross to hit Moore on the opposite side of the net." The colour commentator jumps in.

"No doubt, Bobby, this kid has all kinds of vision on the ice." The replays starts to play on the screen as the commentators keep talking. "He knows the pass is coming from White, he's already decided he's not going to shoot so he's looking for open targets for a pass and BAM!! Tape to tape pass to Carey Moore who roofs it on Blake." 

"And the goal is recorded as Carey Moore from Brad Ross and Nolan White at 41 seconds into the period." The colour commentator announces. "This line is just having a fantastic tournament for Kitchener. When the heat's on, you need your big time players to have that extra gear and the guys on the Ranger's top unit have shown they have it."

"For Brad Ross, this is his sixth point and fifth assist in three games. For Carey Moore, it's his fourth goal of the tournament and for Nolan White, his third assist." Brad's line goes to the bench 

"Would be nice if he would shoot more." I hear Kate mutter.

"Didn't Brad score something like 75 goals in the regular season?" I question, looking at Kate.

"Yeah, so?" Kate answers.

"Maybe he wants to show that he knows how to play well with others." I suggest and she nods slowly. 

"Good point." She concedes. In the middle of the period, Kitchener gets into penalty trouble. They spend something like five and a half consecutive minutes on the penalty kill. During the course of which, Everett gets all kinds of pressure on the Kitchener net but Josh Stafford is standing tall yet again. The Kitchener defensemen are also doing a good job laying their bodies down to block shots from actually getting on net. At the end of the first period, Kitchener holds a 1-0 lead and Josh Stafford has stopped 14 shots on goal. "So, why do you watch every game he plays when the two of you meet up?" Kate asks me.

"Well, I'd like to say that I enjoy the sport but…" I hesitate. "It's not that I don't like watching the game when he plays, but my favourite part of it is…and you can't hold this against me."

"That's if you actually manage to spit it out, right?" Kate jokes.

"I think he looks really hot when he's standing there in his equipment, with his helmet off, giving interviews." I just know I'm turning bright red. "I guess part of that is that you can tell how much fun he's having just by being out there."

"Well, at least you're honest." Kate comments and steals some of my popcorn. We settle in for the second period after ordering some dinner from room service. 

"Kate, where do you think Brad gets taken in the draft?" I ask, it's a thought that passes through my mind more often than it should but now that I have someone who knows what they're talking about that I can talk to, I'm going to get her opinion. 

"Well, I'll tell you but you can't tell him." She answers.

"Why not?" I shift in my chair.

"Because I want him focusing on hockey for the rest of this tournament and at the draft combine in two weeks and he can't do that if he thinks he's a sure thing." Kate lies down on the couch. "He'll go in the top five, with a better than eighty percent chance that he'll go in the top three. This means there's a solid chance he ends up in Vancouver, Dallas or Toronto. But there's still the draft lottery, so he might end up in Carolina or playing with the New York Rangers."

"So, nobody knows?" I inquire.

"Nope, and nobody will until the draft lottery happens." She smiles quickly and we turn our attention back to the TV. The Rangers start the period with the line of Kunitz, Gagne and McKee on the ice. "The kids" as Brad calls them, do a good job of keeping Everett deep in their own zone with a solid fore-check, even though they barely touch the puck. The game moves at a pretty good pace over the course of the second period. With about six minutes or so left in the period, the coach sends Brad's line over the boards again.

They line up against Everett's top scoring unit including Marcus Grundler who the Kitchener coach had done a good job of keeping Brad away from up until this point. Doc loses the face-off to Everett's sixteen year-old phenom Billy Gillis. Gillis draws the puck back to Grundler but Carey puts pressure on Grundler right away to get rid of the puck. Grundler tries to make a hasty pass back to Gillis but it ends up on Doc's stick. Doc moves in passed Grundler and fires a shot on net. The shot is handled easily by Mitchell Blake, the Everett goaltender to passes the puck out to Grundler who's circling back in his own zone. Carey and Doc are still fore-checking but Brad seems to have anticipated a counter-attack and dropped back to shore up the defence. 

Grundler makes the long pass up to Gillis but Doc is on his horse trying to chase Gillis down. He gets in behind the sixteen year-old who's flying up the right side. Gillis is about to cross the Ranger blue-line but he's got Doc forcing him to the inside. Gillis ducks down and cuts to the inside but all of a sudden this big white mass come in from the inside of the ice and hammers Gillis with an open-ice hit. I guess I'll turn you over to the commentators now.

"Oh WOW! Did. You. See. That. Hit?!" The commentator enunciates.

"Ross just moved in from the inside, lined up Gillis and dropped him with a solid hit." The colour commentator adds. "But Billy Gillis hasn't gotten up." The camera pans out to a shot of the ice that shows the play continuing on while Gillis lays on the ice just inside the blue-line not moving. When an Everett player touches the puck, the ref blows the play down and the trainer comes out to check on the kid.

"You hate to see something like this." The commentator says and the replay comes up on screen. "It wasn't a dirty hit, Ross was back-checking with the Ranger defence, Gillis is forced to the inside by Bay, and Ross is just coming over to play the man. He's in a bit of a crouch, so he's not aiming for the head but he just explodes through the hit and because Brad Ross is six foot three and Billy Gillis is five-foot-ten, it doesn't really matter if Ross wasn't intending for his shoulder to hit Gillis' head, it just happened anyway." 

The ref escorts Brad over to the penalty box and the public address announcer takes over. "Kitchener penalty to number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross; four minutes for checking to the head at fourteen forty-three." Right now, I don't think Brad is so much concerned with the four minute penalty as he is with the fact that he might have just seriously injured somebody. After about five minutes, there's a little movement from Gillis' arms and legs which is a good sign but they bring out the EMTs and the gurney to get the kid off the ice. There's a standing ovation for Gillis as he's wheeled off the ice , the players are all tapping their sticks on the ice and Brad is tapping his on the glass on the inside of the penalty box.

I don't think I ever thought of it until now, maybe I never had to, but I didn't realize how great the potential for injury was for Brad while he's out on the ice. I know that the last thing he ever intended to do was hurt Billy Gillis, but something about your perspective changes when you see a kid wheeled off the ice on a gurney. After a few more seconds, the play re-starts with a face-off at centre ice. The Rangers basically spend the rest of the period, including Brad's entire penalty, on defence. At the end of two periods, the score is still only 1-0 for Kitchener and the Rangers are being out-shot 31-22 by Everett. Josh Stafford has been standing on his head again but a correspondent for Sportsnet pulls Brad aside in the tunnel between periods for an interview.

"Brad, what was going through your mind after that hit on Billy Gillis?" The correspondent asks.

"Oh man, I felt terrible." Brad shakes his head. "You know, I just meant to knock him off the puck, I wasn't trying to hurt Billy by any means and I sure as hell hope he's gonna be okay. It was just one of those freak accidents, you know? Two big guys, going at high speeds happen to meet up at a bad time."

"Josh Stafford is putting up more impressive numbers tonight, do you guys say anything to him in between periods?" The interviewer asks.

"Nah, when Josh gets on a role, you just let him do his thing and you try to stay out of his head. He's a great goaltender." Brad wipes a few beads of sweat off his forehead with a towel.

"Thanks, Brad." The interviewer says.

"Yeah, any time." Brad nods and heads off to the dressing room. I just can't get over that hit. I mean, maybe Brad's right and it's just the result of two guys in great physical shape, travelling at high speeds colliding with one another but I get the feeling that it's going to be a little nagging presence in the back of my mind every time he steps on the ice from here on out. 

A few minutes later, we're greeted with the start of the third period. Everett seems out to get a little vengeance on Brad as, during his first shift, he has to duck three or four pretty blatant head shots. Finally, Everett Captain Marcus Grundler pins Brad down in the corner with a hit. The two of them appear to exchange some unfriendly words before heading off for a line change. The period continues what has been a pretty back-and-forth pace between the two teams. 

About halfway through the period Kitchener gets a power-play, Brad's line gets sent over the boards again so Everett matches with Grundler's defensive pairing. Doc wins the draw and slides the puck back to Nolan at the point. Nolan rifles a shot on net that hits Everett goaltender Mitchell Blake in the shoulder and bounces off into the corner on the left side of the rink. Carey goes into the corner to fish out the puck and slides a pass behind the net to Brad in the other corner. Brad's fighting with Grundler for the puck. Grundler's trying hard to throw Brad off the puck very violently but Brad is hunkered down and trying to fight maintain puck control. Eventually, in a burst of leg strength Brad spins and fires a pass out in front of the net. Doc gets his stick on it and flicks a shot passed the Everett goaltender. 2-0 Kitchener.

Brad leaps out from the corner and wraps Doc in a big hug. He rubs the top of his helmet and the two of them head back over to the Kitchener bench. It's a tide turner for the game. Everett never plays with quite the same intensity. With a few seconds left in the game, Everett pulls their goaltender to get the extra attacker. Nolan fires a shot from centre ice into the empty net for an empty net goal. 3-0 Kitchener. I guess they're on to the championship on Sunday afternoon. 


	10. The Championship Game MC

I don't know why, I think I play better after I hear the American national anthem. I had a ten point game this season against the Plymouth Whalers, so maybe that's skewing the data a little bit but still… There was last night's game against Everett where I levelled poor Billy Gillis. I still feel bad about that. I was watching Sportscentre this morning with the guys and the commentator compared it to a Mack truck hitting a rickshaw. Sportscentre also went down the list of injuries that Gillis had sustained. With one hit, I managed to break his collarbone, separate his shoulder, crack two ribs and give him a concussion.

The only thing saving that from being the banner headline for the Sports section this morning was the fact that Josh Stafford has stopped all 103 of the shots fired at him in this tournament and he's on the verge of being the only goalie in the history of the Canadian Hockey League to post a 1.000 Save Percentage and a 0.00 Goals Against Average in the Memorial Cup. That's something that everyone on the team knows and we've all resolved to not bring up in front of Josh or even say out loud until after tomorrow's game.

This afternoon, Kingston and Everett have to play the semi-final to decide who's going to play us in the championship tomorrow. "So, are you gonna tell me what happened at the pub the other night or not?" I question as I sit across the table from Nolan at breakfast.

"Yeah, I was kind of hoping we'd forego that discussion all together." Nolan munches on his Frosted Flakes.

"Last I checked you had a girlfriend." I push a little harder.

"Yeah, you really need to check in more than once a month." Nolan laughs sardonically. "I was involved in break up during the Guelph series about a month back, it was rocky, it was unpleasant and I don't want to talk about it. I've dealt with it."

"She was having re-adjustment problems, huh?" I question.

"I'm gonna be living in Philadelphia next year, regardless if I play in the NHL or in the minors. I've been dating her for almost three years; I finally work up the nerve to ask her to come with me to Philly next year and she goes into a diatribe about "it's not in her plans" and "maybe in a few years". So, I told her that she knew a year ago when I got drafted that this was my last year of Junior and that we'd have to make a decision, she couldn't have told me over the course of this last year that she wasn't in it long term? This inevitably led to a fight." Nolan shrugs.

"Of course." The two of us share a laugh.

"So, I no longer have a girlfriend, which is why I kissed the cute little fiddler on Thursday night." Nolan finishes his explanation and his breakfast.

"Well done." I smirk as I sip from my coffee cup. "I'm worried about facing the same thing next year."

"Yeah, but that's because you're an idiot." Nolan jokes. "You've spent the last eighteen months away from that woman; add on to that all the time you spent with the National Team Development Program when you were fifteen and sixteen. The two of you still stick to each other. I'm convinced that if one of you lived on the moon, you'd still find a way to be whatever the hell it is you are right now."

"Yeah, I hope so." I nod. "Can you believe that we may play our last games as Kitchener Rangers tomorrow afternoon?"

"End of an era, my friend." Nolan raises his coffee cup to mine and they clink together. "Spencer and Huddy, too. They'll be fine though; they still got Doc, Carey, Mickey, Gags, Chief, Langsy and Josh."

"You looking forward to the AHL Playoffs?" I ask.

"Trying not to look beyond tomorrow's game. That's proving exceedingly difficult." Nolan replies with a grin. "You worried that Grundler's going to be out hunting for your head if it's Everett we play tomorrow."

"No, I know it's coming, I'll take it like a man." I answer.

"Speaking of things we would rather not talk about, isn't it your birthday today?" Nolan hides his sadistic grin behind his coffee cup.

"Yup, eighteen as of four hours ago." I nod.

"This may seem an odd thing to say, but look behind you." Nolan says while trying to maintain some kind of broad smile. I look over my right shoulder to see my family checking in at the front desk in the lobby.

"Jacky!" I shout and my brother turns his head and sees me sitting over here in the dining area having breakfast. Jack runs into the dining room and wraps me in a big hug. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"It's our birthday, you're in a championship game tomorrow, where else did you think we'd be?" Jack replies with a characteristic smile.

"Oh great, now I'm going to have to spend the next two days trying to tell the two of you apart." Nolan jokes as he walks over. "Jack." Nolan offers his hand.

"Nolan." Jack shakes it. "All the way over in the car, the guys on sports radio were talking about 'Big Bad Brad' and some hit that you laid on some kid last night. You broke something like three bones and gave the kids a concussion? Mom was completely mortified."

"I didn't mean to hurt the kid; I just caught him awkwardly, something like that happens one time in like a million." I shake my head a bit.

"Yeah, but mom's gonna be lookin' at you funny for the first few hours, deal with it." Jack laughs. "Just try not to do anything else to disrupt the works, okay?" Nolan and I exchange knowing looks. "Oh God, what did you do?" Jack questions. Nolan and I drag Jack over to the elevator and press the button for our floor. "Just tell me how bad it is." Jack says only to be met with silence. We get off the elevator and rush Jack down the aisle to Sasha's room where I knock on the door.

"Love, it's me and Nolan." I say.

"Love?" Jack questions in a whisper. The door opens and Sasha stands there wearing her favourite pair of USMC sweats. "Ah, now it makes sense. But how…?"

"We'll explain in a minute." She rushes us into the room. "What's _he _doing here?"

"The rest of the clan is downstairs." I flop down in a chair in the corner of the room.

"What's with the family reunion?" Sasha begins to pace the room.

"It's our birthday and you know, and these boys are about to play a pretty big game tomorrow." Jack explains. "And I thought the reason I didn't see you at school this week was because you were sick." Jack turns his face toward Sasha.

"Well, even the best of us are wrong sometimes, Jack." Sasha retorts. "So, how do we go about explaining to your parents why I'm here?" Sasha turns toward me.

"More importantly, how about we hide my brother's boxers so the _only thing_ we have to explain to our parents is why you're here?" Jack jokes and Sasha kicks my boxer shorts under the bed. "How exactly did you get here?"

"Yeah, that's my doing." Nolan pipes up. "Your brother spent the coldest months of the Canadian winter without any _company_, and I knew about him and Sasha here so I gave her a call and invited her up here to spend some time with him this week. I offered to pay for her travel here and sure enough, she got the week off school or whatever and went on vacation."

"Okay, well that explains how you got here." Jack nods. "Now how are we going to deal with all this? I imagine mom and dad are going to want to celebrate our birthday tonight and I imagine you're going to want to be there." Jack looks at Sasha again. "Now how do we prevent a lot of questions from being asked?"

"We don't." Sasha answers. "We confront it head on. Your parents are nice, understanding people. Your mom loves me."

"There's an understatement." Jack laughs. "Mom thinks you're the only woman in the world good enough for him."

"That's kind of funny." Nolan chimes in. There's silence. "What? It is."

"So, we go downstairs and walk into the jaws of the beast?" I turn to her and she takes my hand.

"After you." She smiles brightly at me and I get up out of the chair and lead the group of people to the door. We step out into the hallway and the door locks behind us.

"Dead man walking!" Jack announces in a loud voice that causes me to roll my eyes. The four of us get in the elevator and I punch the button to take us back down to the lobby. The bitter taste of the adrenaline is coursing through my mouth. I don't mind facing my father. Hell, he'll probably pat me on the back and buy me a bottle of bourbon. No woman has ever been good enough to pass my mother's test. Now, Sasha's babysat for my little brother and sister, known me since I was like three and was probably at the White House more times than the Secretary of State when my dad was the President.

None of that matters in the endgame. Tim has had eight girlfriends while he's been up at Phillips-Exeter; none of them have been good enough for my mom. Jack's had four during high school; my mom has found a way to stare down every one of them. My mom didn't like when I went out with Lucy Davis in middle school, she really didn't like when I dated Audrey Williams in Grade Nine and she didn't talk to me for two weeks after she found out I had sex last winter when I was playing my first season in Kitchener for the Rangers. The elevator hits the lobby floor and I swear I can hear my heart pound loudly against the inside of my chest.

"We were wondering where the three of you had run off to and…" My dad starts saying but then he realizes just who I'm standing next to. "Jack, how did you fit her in your suitcase?"

"Not me, dad." Jack throws his hands in the air and my dad turns his waiting eyes on me.

"I'm afraid that I was the one who arranged this little rendezvous, sir." Nolan steps up. "We were about to play in a big tournament for a nationwide championship, I figured this was the best possible morale boost I could give the team. Who can blame your son, just look at the girl, he's got great taste." Every guy in the immediate vicinity grins and nods and I have to laugh. Sasha blushes furiously and buries her head in my shoulder.

"Alright, well I guess stranger things have happened." My dad laughs and pulls me into a hug. "The radio said you decked some kid during the game yesterday?"

"It was a freak hit." I say. "Happens maybe one in a million. I called Billy at the hospital this morning once he woke up to tell him how sorry I was."

"Happy birthday, kiddo." My dad rubs the top of my head. "Hannah, your mom and I were headed out to some of the local shops around town to pick up a few more presents for you boys. Sasha, why don't you join us?"

"Uh…" Sasha looks at me and I shrug my shoulders trying to conceal my schadenfreude. "Sure, Mr. Ross, I'd be happy to."

"Harry, why don't you come with me and a few of the boys to watch the semi-final game?" I invite my eleven year-old brother along.

"Can I, dad?" Harry looks up at my dad.

"Sure. Just make sure you don't leave your brothers' sight." My dad warns. Just then Josh Stafford and Carey come rushing into the hallway.

"Brad, you gotta come see this! We managed to string Doc up from the ceiling by his ankles." Josh has this broad grin on his face. I clear my throat and angle my head toward my parents. Josh's eyes go wide when he sees my folks. "Your holiness, I mean Your Highness…Mr. Justice, I mean Mr. President." Josh finally gets it.

"Dad, Mom, this is Josh Stafford." I introduce the young goalie to my parents. "Josh, these are my parents."

"And we'd be perfectly okay with you referring to us as Mr. and Mrs. Ross." My mom shakes Josh's hand.

"What's up, Prez!" Carey greets my father.

"Hey, Carey." My dad waves at Carey. "I guess I'm gonna be the pack mule for the girls when they shop."

"Ah yes, but this too will pass, dad." I point out as they head for the door and their day of shopping. Sasha looks back over her shoulder at me with those big brown eyes and blows me a quick kiss. It's payback for not insisting she stay with me. She knows that the guys are paying attention and they'll rip me to know end about it. The group gets in the car and heads off.

"Dude, did she just…" Jack starts but I cut him off.

"Jack, when I hit Billy Gillis yesterday I broke his collarbone, separated his shoulder, cracked two ribs and gave him a concussion. I want you to think very hard before you finish that sentence." I don't even have to look back over my shoulder at him to emphasize my point.

"I'll be good." Jack affirms and I laugh a little to myself. "But I do have questions."

"Good luck, I've spent the last week trying to get him to answer questions about _that_." Nolan jokes a bit. "The guys all share their exploits in the dressing room, he won't say a peep."

"Come on, Braddy boy; indulge us in a little vicarious living." Jack elbows me in the shoulder. "It's not like we haven't had a thought about her that way."

"Jack, you really think that's something you want to admit to me?" I peak an eyebrow at my brother.

"Come on, Brad. She's my babysitter and even I've had a look at some of her goodies." Harry interjects. Now, I love my little brother – I suppose technically Harry would be my youngest brother since I'm technically the oldest – but what he just said made me laugh.

"Oh you did, huh?" I manage to get out in between laughs.

"You'd have to be dead not to." Harry replies completely off the cuff.

"Amen, brother." Jack adds on.

"Et tu, Brute?" I turn to Nolan.

"She's your girl, man. I try to keep those thoughts out of my head." Nolan answers honestly. "But she doesn't make it easy."

"Amen, brother." Jack adds again.

"Stop saying that." I turn to Jack who's laughing to himself. "Are you guys through ripping me on this yet?" I ask as we head out the hotel doors on to the sidewalk.

"Not even close." Nolan shakes his head and pats me on the back.

"Just before we go any farther, I have one question. Is the underlying point of all these jokes going to be that Sasha's hot?" I look to Nolan and Jack.

"No." Jack shakes his head. "See, if she was _just_ hot, we'd all keep our opinions to ourselves. Right?" He looks to Nolan and Harry for approval, Harry nods his head enthusiastically. "It's that she's _so_ hot. Seriously, the definition of an embarrassment of riches. God giving with both hands. Think about it, brains, sense of humour, general kindness…"

"Her body." Harry adds.

"Amen, brother." Jack concludes with a laugh.

"Seriously, stop saying that." This time even I'm laughing. "Guys, come on that's my girl, you really can't be saying that stuff."

"Oh, lighten up." Nolan shakes his head. "Besides, I'm your best friend and they're your brothers, if we can't rip on you, who can?"

"A…" Jack starts but I cut him off.

"I swear to God, Jack, if you say 'Amen, brother', I will pull your lower lip up over the top of your head." I smile at my brother who stops talking instantly. "I will indulge one question and one question only. So, you three had better make sure it's good." I keep walking while the three of them gather behind me to discuss what they want to ask. I can hear Nolan striking down ideas that he finds too obscene or uncouth. He's a great guy, but I would always bet dollars to donuts that his intellectual curiosity on some matters would get the better of his conservative nature.

"We have a question!" Jack announces.

"Over my strong objections." Nolan adds.

"Alright." I turn around, cross my arms in front of my chest and tap my foot. "Do your worst."

"Is she a moaner or a screamer?" Jack asks.

"Jack, our eleven year-old brother is standing right _there_." I point to Harry.

"He came up with the question." Jack insists. I'm sure the shock on my face is evident. "He's almost twelve dude, not six. You should hear some of the stuff this kid hears at school; it would curl your toes. So, which is she?"

"Yes." I answer simply.

"Yes, what?" Jack replies.

"Hey, I just said I'd answer the question, I didn't say you'd like the answer." I reply smartly as I hand out the tickets to the game to the other three guys and we head into the arena. I chortle as we move through the crowds at the rink to the rail that delineates the standing room only section. Jack, Nolan and I lean over the rail, perched on our elbows. The lights go down as Kingston and Everett skate out on to the ice. Kingston's dressed in their home black jerseys and Everett is dressed in their away white jerseys.

"Everett could barely beat them _with_ Gillis in the line up, Kingston's gonna kill them without Gillis." I tell Nolan.

"I'm surprised Teemu Nommainenen hasn't really shown up for Everett in this series, he's got what, like a goal and an assist in three games?" Nolan asks me. "For a guy who's supposed to be competing with you and Trevor Wood in the top three in June, he's not exactly showing his mettle."

"We're talking about a guy who finished the Western Hockey League season with 43 goals and 61 assists. It's just not regular that he would pick this time in the season to have a slump." I ponder.

"You ever get to pick when you have a slump?" Nolan turns toward me.

"Good point." I nod. The crowd stands through the national anthems for Canada and the United States before the two teams gather at centre ice for the opening face-off. It's Nommainenen for Everett against Stewart for Kingston. Stewart wins the draw and the game is off to a hard start. Both teams are playing defensive hockey to start. None of them wants to make a mistake the other side can capitalize on since they're both so close to the championship game they can taste it. The goaltender tested most in the first ten minutes is Everett's Mitchell Blake but he seems equal to the task. I look across the ice and I can see the Everett coach having a very rough conversation with Nommainenen. He obviously expected as much out of the young Finn as the rest of the hockey world did.

The next time Nommainenen goes over the boards, he seems like a man on a mission. He's flying around the ice demonstrating the speed that every scouting report has said makes him a lethal offensive weapon. The first time the puck lands on his stick, Nommainenen is off to the races, up the left-hand side of the rink. He cuts on the net and you can just feel the goal coming. It's like the gale force winds from a hurricane. He lifts the puck over the shoulder of the Kingston goaltender and skates calmly around behind the net with just his stick raised in the air to celebrate.

"That's going to open the game up." Nolan comments.

"If I was Kingston, I'd just come out and play the speed game, force Everett to skate with you." I mutter.

"What did you think I was talking about?" Nolan raises an eyebrow. Through the rest of the first period, Everett scores two more goals, Nommainenen assists on both of them. Kingston replies with one goal by Stewart and one goal by Winter. Everett goes into the first intermission leading 3-2.

"Jack, I wanna go get a hot dog." Harry tugs on Jack's sleeve. Jack groans.

"I'll take him, Jack." Nolan volunteers. "Come on, bud." Nolan and Harry head off toward the concession. The two of them vanish from sight and I hear Jack clear his throat.

"So, you and Sasha, huh?" He questions, not looking at me but choosing rather to stare out over the ice.

"Yeah." I nod and I'm sure I blush a little.

"Just how crazy about her are you?" Jack asks, still not looking at me.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure it's nearing the irrational." I chuckle a little. "It's odd, because I think it brings out the sentimentalist in me."

"How so?" Jack asks, suddenly intrigued.

"I start coming up with stupid similes." I answer. "I'll find myself comparing her skin to electric silk or reflecting on all those idiot songwriters who compared lips to honey. I also develop the urge to just touch her at the oddest times."

"Yeah, you're in love." Jack nods. "Hey, did I tell you my good news?"

"Nope." I shake my head.

"Got an offer from Boston College for a full ride on a football scholarship." Jack says and I look over at him.

"You've wanted to play football for Annapolis as long as I can remember, why would you want to move to the Atlantic Coast Conference and play for the Eagles now?" I question.

"Hey man, better chance to move on to the Pros playing for Boston College." Jack quips.

"Yeah, but you were the one who always wanted to be the Marine." I counter.

"Nothing saying I still can't if football doesn't pan out, just have to do it through OCS is all." Jack answers.

"Well at least somebody will be in Boston to check up on Sasha next year." I think aloud. "I'm just worried she'll be bored or homesick…"

"Or find out that she prefers some Harvard brain trust to you?" Jack chances and I shake my head. "Come on, Brad, it's me you're talking to. The most open secret in the whole damn family is how you tend to be a little insecure about your intelligence. You can't honestly think she'd go around with some other guy just because she hadn't seen you in a while."

I shrug my shoulders. "You said yourself, she's really hot and if that weren't enough, she's really smart. Guys are gonna hit on her."

"You're on TV pretty much everyday in Gatorade and Nike ads, you're a top NHL Prospect and you don't think _she_ might be worried about the girls that are going to make passes at you next year?" Jack replies with a bit of edge in his voice. He doesn't want me going on any pity trips.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." I nod as Nolan and Harry come walking back over. We stand up along the rail for the remaining two periods of the game. It becomes a real shooting match as the final score is Everett 8 – Kingston 6. We head back to the hotel and we run into Josh, Doc, Carey and Spencer on the sidewalk outside of the arena. "So, it's Everett again tomorrow?"

"Second time in three days." Carey groans. "Those guys will have played four days in a row though, so we might have a bit of an advantage."

"Well, either that or they're just getting warmed up." Josh comments. "Eight goals ain't nothing."

"Ain't a lot of defence either, Josh." Doc weighs in. "If Spencer and Nolan just make sure me, Cap and Carey get the puck, we'll take care of the other end of the ice for ya." Doc gives the young goaltender a pat on the back and the whole group of us walk back to the hotel. Tomorrow is it for the 2019-2020 Kitchener Rangers, 68 regular season games, 20 playoff games and three Memorial Cup games have all meant nothing because without a win after 60 minutes of play tomorrow, only the twenty-three guys on this team will remember this experience with any fondness.

When we get back to the hotel Jack, Nolan and Harry all rush in ahead of me while Doc, Carey, Josh and Spencer force me to stand outside. After a few seconds, Nolan jumps back out the front doors of the hotel and everyone rushes me inside. We turn around the corner from the lobby to the bar and we're met with a crowd. "Surprise!!" I have to laugh, this was well thought out. The entire team, including the coaching and training staff is at the party, along with my entire immediate family excepting only my brother Tim and cousin Helene who are writing their exams at school right now. "Brad, we decided that we were going to pull out every cheesy stop since you only turn eighteen once." Nolan gives me a pat on the back.

"So, we figured we'd start with the cake." My dad steps in and shows me and Jack the way to the cake. It's huge sheet cake with _Happy Birthday Brad, Jack and Tim_ written in icing. It's got the Kitchener Rangers' crest, the "BC" of Boston College and the blue 'Y' of Yale on it. Jack and I blow out the candles much to the applause of the rest of the room.

"And the boys and I figured, we'd get this cake just for you, Cap." Spencer and Nolan guide me over to the large blue, white and red paper mache cake on the other side of the room. I know where this is going but I play along anyway. The guys on the team start singing _Happy Birthday_ as I examine the large fake cake. They finish the song and Sasha pops out of the top of the cake wearing the white Kitchener jersey I gave her earlier in the week. I reach up around her waist and lift her free of the fake cake. She leans up and kisses me on the cheek.

"You're my present?" I whisper in her ear.

"I figured I'd save your present until you got back home in two weeks and you had the time to really enjoy it." She whispers back and winks at me.

"Now, for the big finale." My dad and Jack stand on either side of me. "Jack got his present and Tim will get his when he gets home from school in a few weeks. But we figured that now was the time for you to get yours." My family and my buddies surround me and we walk back out through the lobby, out the front doors of the hotel back on to the sidewalk. We walk around the corner of the hotel and into the parking lot. Dad tells me to cover my eyes for the last few steps. We move along the sidewalk until eventually Jack brings me to a halt. I'm turned sharply to my right and told to uncover my eyes. I look down and I see a restored Harley Davidson motorcycle sitting there with a red bow on it. "Happy Eighteenth, son."

"Thanks, Dad, Mom." I look at my parents with what has to be the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. I give both my parents big hugs before walking over and taking a seat on the bike.

"This is my present." Jack tosses me a helmet. "You got the license for that thing right?"

"And that was my doing." Nolan steps in.

"That's right, you were the one who challenged me to get the motorcycle license back in April." I chuckle. "You were planning again."

"I'm a hell of a guy." Nolan smiles. "You gonna take that beast for a ride?"

"Yeah." I smile again and dad tosses me the keys. I pop on the helmet, fire up the bike and take off around the block. It's a great feeling to have the wind whistle through your hair with control over this machine. I pull back into the parking lot and pull the helmet off. "That may be the best feeling ever!" I exclaim as I tuck the helmet under my arm. Sasha clears her throat to respond to my comment. "Oh, well except for…" I realize my parents are standing right there. "Not that I…what I meant to say was…"

"Just get inside so we can get back to the party." Jack cuts me off and I follow everyone back into the hotel. We carry on with the birthday party right through dinner. The coach keeps very tight reins on everyone on the team. The few guys who are of age, aren't allowed to drink and the whole team is ordered upstairs to their rooms at 10:15 PM exactly. I run into my mother waiting for the elevator at about 10:18. The elevator doors open and the two of us step on.

"Bradley, I know we haven't spoken a lot since we arrived this morning but I just wanted to say one thing." My mom blurts out.

"What's on your mind, mom?" I ask and turn to face her.

"Bradley, you've got a young woman here this weekend who absolutely adores you and from what I gather you feel quite strongly about her as well. Do not hurt her, Bradley or mistreat her. First, because your father and I didn't raise you like that and second, because she's an extraordinary young woman. A woman like that doesn't come along but once in the course of your life." The elevator dings at my floor.

"Thanks, mom." I nod and get off the elevator.

We're sitting in the dressing room before the championship game. I've got all my equipment on but my helmet and gloves. I'm staring down at my blue Rangers jersey that I've got in my hands. This may be the last time I ever pull this jersey over my head. I've spent a season and a half in Kitchener and it's been the best hockey experience of my life. I've got friends here that I'll have for a lifetime. I trace the red letter 'C' that sits above the left shoulder on the jersey. After having a good playoff run last year, the boys stuck me with the nickname "Captain America". They figured that it fit. I wasn't so sure. I guess it's one of those self-fulfilling things. You're only sure you've earned something once you feel comfortable with it. I won't feel comfortable with it unless we beat Everett today. I pull the jersey over my head.

"You alright, Cap?" Nolan pats me on the back.

"Y'ever throw up before a big game?" I ask Nolan.

"Yeah, before game 7 of the OHL Final versus Niagara last year." Nolan nods. "Felt better."

"Yeah, I got that feeling right now." I stare down at the floor. "Every other hockey playing kid where we're from dreams of growing up and winning the Frozen Four in the NCAA. We grew up and we're playing for the Memorial Cup, you think there's something wrong with us?"

"Nothing a victory today won't cure." Nolan answers with a grin. We put our helmets on while leaving the chin-strap dangling loose. We slide our gloves on, grab our sticks and wait at the door of the dressing room. I step back for a second to talk with Raff out trainer.

"Hey, Raff." I say. "Bring Nolan's white jersey to the bench for after the game okay?" Raff nods at me and I smile. I rejoin Nolan at the front of the line. The buzzer sounds out over the rink and we walk down the hallway toward the gate. The house-lights are off and the rink is dark as we stride on to the ice. They start a small laser light show over centre ice as the two teams skate around waiting for them to bring out the performer to sing the national anthems. They announce the performer and the two teams line up on their blue-lines and face the flags at the west end of the rink to listen to the national anthems. They sing _O Canada_ first and I take deep breaths trying to calm the pounding of my heart. When they finish _O Canada_, there's a few seconds of pause before the performer launches into _The Star Spangled Banner_.

Nolan and I are standing side by side on the blue-line all through the American national anthem. We're jazzed up and ready to play this game. We're lightly tapping each other on the gloves all through _The Star Spangled Banner_ as we stare up at Old Glory. The performer hits that last glorious note of the national anthem, Nolan and I pull our helmets back on our heads do a quick skate down to our own goal to tap Josh on the pads before skating back toward centre ice to line up for the opening face-off.

Doc strides into the face-off circle. He hovers his stick over the dot and waits for the puck to slap down on the ice. The ref hurls the puck straight down into the face-off dot and the two centres scramble for it. Doc wins the face-off and the puck comes back to Nolan at defence. Nolan picks up a head of steam, crosses the centre line and fires a hard shot down deep into the Everett zone. Everett Captain Marcus Grundler goes back around behind the Everett net to retrieve the puck but Doc and Carey are hard on his tail. Grundler makes an outlet pass up to Nommainenen. The Finnish firefly speeds up the boards on the left hand side but Nolan comes over to cut him off. Nolan guides Nommainenen into the boards and takes the puck from him. Nolan slides a pass over to Doc who's heading down the middle of the ice at full speed. Doc feeds me the puck along the right hand side. Right now, only Marcus Grundler is standing between me and the net. "Bring it on, Marcus." I taunt the Everett Captain as I try to make an effort to push for the front of the net and Grundler's doing his level best to keep his body between me and his goaltender. We're about ten feet from the net when I get tired of trying to push my way in against his chest. I pivot out of the clash on my right leg and execute a quick spin-o-rama. I fire a pass across in front of the net to Doc who's parked right in front of the net. Doc gets his stick on it just in time to deflect it between the legs of the Everett goaltender. 1-0 Kitchener.

I jaw a bit at Grundler as we stand in front of the Everett net before skating over to congratulate Doc. As my line skates back toward our bench, we have to pass the Everett bench so we taunt them a little bit as we skate by. Doc punches me in the shoulder for feeding him the pass and I pat him on the helmet for scoring the goal. We stand on the bench and watch our second line head out for the next face-off. That was a comparatively long shift for us; we were out there for a whole fifty-seven seconds.

The Everett coach has kept Nommainenen on the ice along with Grundler. Obviously, he's not going to let his star players off easy. On the next draw, Nommainenen beats Huddy and bats the puck over to one of his wingers. Everett takes off on a full pressure attack. Their three forwards cross into our zone and their two defenseman follow up by staking out positions on the blue-line. An Everett winger fires a shot on goal that Josh kicks out easily with one of his pads. The puck comes out to Nommainenen who drops a pass back to Grundler at the point. The Everett Captain launches a cruise missile of a shot on goal that Josh nabs with his glove and freezes the play. The ref blows the play dead and both teams change lines before another face-off. Our line of young guys takes on Everett's. Everett wins the face-off again and the puck slides back to the point. The Everett defenseman fires a shot on goal that Josh kicks aside again. The rebound comes out to an Everett player who takes a shot that hits Josh in the chest. Josh falls on the puck but two Everett players in front of the net taking to trying to dig the puck out from under him. An Everett stick comes down across Josh's back, causing him to flinch, the puck his drawn out by an Everett player and fired into the back of the net. It's a 1-1 game.

Our bench is in an uproar. The ref should have blown his whistle, Josh clearly had the puck covered. There's a scrum in front of our net and the refs separate the players from the two teams and send them back to their respective benches. Doc and I look at each other and nod. Nolan doesn't need in on the conversation, he knows what we're planning and what his role is in it. Doc tells Carey who nods the whole time it's being explained to him. Coach sends our line over the boards to take the face-off at centre ice. Doc steps into the face-off circle against Nommainenen. Doc wins the face-off and sends the puck over to Carey. Carey faces a little checking pressure from an Everett winger so he sends a pass back to Kyle McWilliam. Kyle moves the puck up to me on the wing. I've got Doc and Carey with me as we all burst over the Everett blue-line and in on the Everett goal. I fake a pass to Doc who's heading straight for the front of the net and drop a pass for Nolan. Nolan tees up a slap-shot and rifles one off. He aimed for the upper part of the Everett goalie, he's not even trying to score, just to ring the bell. He whacks the Everett goaltender right in the mask with a slap-shot that was easily over 100 mph. Doc, Carey and I all close in on the net at top speed, presumably to look for a rebound but in reality it's because we know that when we come to a stop, we'll kick up a cloud of snow so big we'll bury the Everett goalie. A little payback for that whack on Josh at the other end.

When we snow the Everett goalie, it causes an anticipated fracas. There's a lot of pushing and shoving around the Everett goal. But it goes to another level when the Everett tough guy, a kid named Cody Thorn, sticks a glove in Carey's face and pushes him to the ice. I launch myself at Everett Captain Marcus Grundler, put both my gloves in the middle of his chest and push him into the boards. "You wanna go, Marcus?" I question and with an evil smirk on his face the Everett Captain nods at me. We move out of the crowd and away from the referees.

We toss our gloves and sticks down first. After they go, our helmets get peeled off and tossed to the ice. Then, because Grundler and I are both seeing blood we go the extra step of reaching under our jerseys and removing our elbow pads so we can swing away more freely. I mockingly wave him in and he launches at me. Now he's a little taller than me but it's a pretty even weight match up, so it shouldn't be too hard on me. Grundler gets the first punch in and clips me right above my left eye. Then we just start swinging away. I land three or four good blows under his right eye. Remember fighting in hockey is basically boxing on skates, so you spend half your time trying not to fall on your butt. About thirty seconds into the fight, we're tired as hell and we're just swinging away, not caring if we actually hit anything. After about ten more seconds, we're both panting for air. I've only got one trick left. I work my right arm free of his grasp, wind up and catch him with one solid uppercut right on his chin that knocks him off balance and sends him crashing to the ice.

The linesmen jump in and separate us. They escort us over to the penalty boxes. The crowd is on their feet cheering and members from both teams are tapping their sticks on the ice in recognition. I've got a small cut above my left eye that's bleeding down the side of my face, but nothing too severe. Grundler's gonna have one hell of a black-eye in a few hours and last uppercut seems to have cut his lip or his tongue because he's spitting blood in the penalty box. Nolan brings my equipment over and hands it to me in the penalty box. "That a boy, Cap." He cheers with a smile as he hands me my helmet.

The rest of the first period is played out with the same intensity that drove the first few minutes. The score remains 1-1 as both teams head to the dressing rooms for the first intermission. The sweat is just pouring off of us. Every player on both teams wants this game so badly we can taste it. I muss the hell out of my hair sitting at my stall in the dressing room. Coach taps me and Nolan on the shoulder and pulls us aside. "Do either of you two know what the Fourth Gear is?" The coach asks.

"Yeah, it's the top gear on a standard transmission." Nolan answers.

"That's the analogy." Coach nods. "Every hockey player has the first three gears, but only a few have the fourth gear. Or maybe it's that only a few can actually shift into it. This team needs you two to hit that fourth gear now. Let's be realistic. The other guys in this room know that this may be the last time they lace up the skates with you guys. They all want to make it one to remember but they need you guys to take the game on your backs. They need you guys to give the first show of your NHL selves for the next two periods."

"Got it, Coach." Nolan and I nod at the coach. The Coach smiles at us and points us back toward our stalls. "I will bet you two hundred dollars that you can't put up three goals before the game's over." Nolan taunts me.

"Sounds like a bet to me." I shake his hand "We gotta win this game."

"Don't I know it." Nolan grins and the two of us pull our helmets back on and line up with the team to head back out for the second period. We skate out on to a clean sheet of ice before the start of the second period. Huddy's line is going to start the second period matched up against Nommainenen's line. The puck slaps against the cold ice and we're back off to the races. The first minute of play takes place largely in the neutral zone with an offside bringing the first stoppage of play. Coach pats my line on the back and sends us over the boards.

We line up for the face-off, which Doc wins and he slides that puck back to Nolan. Nolan loops around behind Kyle McWilliam and hits me with a pass on the right wing. I just miss a check when I receive the pass and I look up to see myself confronted by three white Everett jerseys between me and the goal. I've got to think of a way to keep the puck long enough to get a scoring chance out of it. The first Everett player tries to stand me up at the blue-line, I slide the puck between this legs and duck around him. Now, I've only got the two Everett defensemen between me and the goal. I execute a toe-drag followed by a quick change of speed to jet around the first one. I know I can try a dangle here, a dangle is when you let your stick lead like you're going to go one way or else shoot. The intent is to get the defenseman to bite and the Everett defenseman bites like a champion Sea Bass. The second part of the dangle is pulling the puck over to the complete other side and evading the defender. This part works as well and I'm in free and clear on the goalie. I lead backhand on the Everett goalie before moving hard to my forehand and sliding the puck in between his skate and the post. 2-1 Kitchener.

The red-light behind the goal comes on and my line-mates rush over to congratulate me. Nolan taps me on the head. "That's one." I declare.

"Still two more to go, Cap." He replies with a fond smile as we head back to the bench. We step through the open door on to the bench and our back-up goaltender, Ritchie Moran, gives me a pat on the back as I walk by. Everett spends the time in between our shifts trying to fight back against the pressure we're putting on. This translates into a lot of pucks being thrown at Josh Stafford by the time there's eight minutes left in the period, Josh has stopped thirty-two of the thirty-three shots fired at him. My line gets sent over the boards for a power-play after an Everett forward is called for a goaltender interference penalty.

Huddy lines up for the face-off with Doc and Carey on his wings and me and Nolan at the point. Huddy wins the face-off and scoops the puck back to Nolan at the point. Nolan positions himself at the blue-line before bumping a pass down to Doc off the half-boards. Doc slides a pass across behind the net to Carey. Carey fakes a move out to the front of the net before sending the puck back to Doc. I come in off the point toward the top of the circle and Doc hits me with a hard pass. I immediately fire off a slap-shot toward the top left corner of the net. It flies passed the Everett goaltender which triggers the red goal-light behind the net. 3-1 Kitchener.

We head back to the bench and the coach sends our young guys over the boards. I hope this is the fourth gear that the Coach was talking about. Now we're playing a kind of clamp-down defence to prevent Everett from mounting any scoring pressure. By the end of the second period, the score is still 3-1 Kitchener. I don't think I've ever smiled so widely while playing hockey. The second intermission passes mercifully quickly and we're back out on the ice.

This time my line gets to start the period; a period that might be my last as a Kitchener Ranger. Doc steps into the face-off circle but is thrown out by the ref for not squaring up straight to the draw. Doc steps out of the face-off circle and moves over to my wing. I stride in to take the draw for him. I hunch over the face-off circle and take a low grip on my stick. The puck drops to the ice, I lean forward and brush the ice with my stick, forcing the puck back between my legs. Kyle takes the puck out of the open ice and slides a pass over to Nolan. Playing a simple dump-and-chase game, Nolan merely crosses the centre ice line and pounds the puck into the Everett zone. Carey goes in after it and gets crossed up with an Everett defenseman in the corner. Carey fights the puck loose and slides it back up the boards to Nolan.

Nolan burns a shot on goal. This one hits the Everett goaltender on the chest pad and lands on my stick in front of the net. I fire the rebound into the net. That's number three. The red-light behind the goal flashes. 4-1 Kitchener. My line-mates mob me in front of the Everett net. "That's three." I tell Nolan.

"I'll pay you when we get back to the hotel." He shouts a reply. We all head back to the bench with big smiles on our faces. That goal was the one that broke the camel's back. Everett never seems to be able to come back with the same kind of fight. A few moments later, Spencer Kraft rings the bell to make it 5-1 Kitchener and a few minutes after that, McKee lights the lamp to make it 6-1 Kitchener. Coach keeps my line off the ice so we don't run up the score and look like we're rubbing it in. After Grundler rubs out McKee along the boards, Coach sends my line over the boards again. We're just supposed to keep the puck out of our own net but after being told to bump my game into the fourth gear, I find it hard to shift down. Nolan strips an Everett forward of the puck in our defensive zone and flips the puck up to me between the two Everett defensemen. I muster up all the strength I've got left in my quadriceps for one final rush. I've got two Everett defensemen trying to close in behind me but they can't catch me in full flight. I've got my eyes locked on those of the Everett goaltender. I move the puck from my backhand to my forehand, back to my backhand; I'm trying to make a decision. I'm getting in close now, I've got to make a decision. I play up a shot to the blocker side that the Everett goalie falls for then I pull the puck back, flip over to my backhand and tuck a shot up under the crossbar. 7-1 Kitchener.

The last minute and a half of the game is played in a very toned down way and when the buzzer goes, we all leap over the boards and mob Josh down in our own zone. None of us can believe we won. Helmets, gloves, sticks are strewn everywhere as we dog-pile on to our young goaltender. After a few seconds of patting each other on the back, we straighten up and head to centre ice to meet our vanquished foes. I lead the Rangers into the traditional team handshake that ends the tournament. The first Everett player I encounter is Marcus Grundler. Grundler chuckles when he sees me. "You're a hell of a talent, kid." Grundler tells me.

"You too, Marcus." I reply.

"See you in the NHL." He answers back and continues down the line to shake the hand of everyone else on my team, as I do with his team. After the handshake, each of the two teams line up on their respective blue-lines. We're standing here awaiting the presentation of the tournament awards when the Commissioner of the Ontario Hockey League steps out on to the red carpet that has been unfurled at centre ice.

"First off, I want to congratulate the Kitchener Rangers players, coaching staff and training staff on their incredible run through this tournament." The Commissioner starts and the arena erupts in a standing ovation. "My congratulations are extended also to the Everett Silvertips who put up one heck of a fight." There's another round of applause. "But now it's time to hand out the hardware." A table with trophies is rolled out on to the carpet.

"Look at all that brass." Nolan jokes and I laugh.

"First, the George Parsons Trophy, awarded to the most sportsmanlike player in the tournament is awarded this year to the Kitchener Rangers number seventeen, Nick Bay." Doc skates up to the Commish and stands for a photo op before accepting his trophy. "The Ed Chynoweth Trophy is awarded to the tournament's leading scorer every year, and this year it is my pleasure to award it to the Kitchener Rangers number seventy-nine, Bradley Ross." I skate up to the Commish and shake hands with him before posing for a photo op and accepting my trophy. "There are two trophies left to present, but these presentations can be made simultaneously. The Hap Emms Trophy is awarded every year to the tournament's best goaltender and the Stafford Smythe Trophy is awarded every year to the player judged most valuable to him team during the tournament. This year, after posting a .994 Save Percentage and 0.25 Goals Against Average, we could think of no more deserving recipient than Kitchener Rangers number thirty-seven, Josh Stafford."

I lead the boys in applause as Josh skates up to the commissioner to receive his two awards. I tell Nolan that Raff has a present for him over at the bench. Nolan eyes me suspiciously before skating over and having Raff hand him the white Kitchener Rangers jersey with a 'C' stitched in the upper left corner. "This was a joint effort, partner." I tell him as he skates back over.

"Damn right." He nods and smiles at me.

"Now, would the Captain…" The commissioner is tapped on the shoulder and he looks over again to see that there are two members of the Kitchener Rangers wearing a 'C' on their jersey. "Excuse me, _Captains_ of the Kitchener Rangers please come and receive the Memorial Cup." Nolan and I skate over to the carpet. Each of us takes one of the handles of the great goblet and hoists it into the air with a great cheer of "YEAH!!" We skate back over to our team-mates and the PA system in the arena goes silent for a second before the faint strains of a piano can be heard. We all know what this is, so we line up along the blue-line again and throw our arms over the shoulders of the guys next to us as the song begins to play.

_I've paid my dues_

_Time after time_

_I've done my sentence_

_But committed no crime_

_And bad mistakes_

_I've made a few_

_I've had my share of sand kicked in my face_

_But I've come through_

Now all the boys prepare to join in the chorus with huge smiles on their faces.

_We are the Champions, my friend_

_And we'll keep on fighting till the end_

_We are the Champions_

_We are the Champions_

_No time for losers _

_Cause we are the Champions of the World!_

I find myself staring down the row of my team-mates thinking that this is the best group of twenty-three bastards that I've ever had the pleasure of lacing up skates with. You can look down the row and see Spencer and Huddy trying to fight back tears, they know they'll never wear Kitchener blue again. Me and Nolan have never looked more celebratory. Doc and Carey look like they just discovered gold.

_I've taken my bows_

_And my curtain calls_

_You've brought me fame and fortune_

_And everything that goes with it_

_I thank you all_

_But it's been no bed of rose_

_No pleasure cruise_

_I consider it a challenge before the whole human race_

_And I'd never lose!_

_We are the Champions, my friend_

_And we'll keep on fighting till the end_

_We are the Champions_

_We are the Champions_

_No time for losers_

_Cause we are the Champions of the World!!_

The celebration of our victory lasts well through the night and we all wake up comparatively late the next morning. My family all has to get home so that Jack, Harry and Hannah don't miss any more school and they nicely promised to give Sasha a lift back home. So, I'm standing in the lobby of the hotel saying my goodbyes. I hug Hannah and Harry first. Then I get wrapped in a big bear hug by Jack who pats me on the back and musses my hair. I kiss my mom on the cheek when I hug her and my dad shakes my hand very authoritatively before pulling me into a hug.

The family leaves so I can say my goodbyes to Sasha. "So, when are you gonna be home?" She asks.

"Well, I head back to Kitchener for nine days to write exams, finish my courses and graduate. Then it's out to Anaheim for five days to get run through the gamut at the draft combine. Then it's out to Montreal to appear on _Coach's Corner _for _Hockey Night in Canada_ during game two of the Stanley Cup Finals. They're featuring the Top Prospects that night. After that, I'll fly back into Kitchener. Pick up what little of my stuff is still with my billets, say a tearful goodbye to them and then hop on my new bike and hightail it for home. Probably three weeks." I finish up my explanation.

"Will you make it for graduation?" She asks.

"I'll try my damnedest." I answer with a smile.

"Good." She nods reassuringly. "Now, you listen to me. I've made my decision, I'm madly in love with you, you goof. I don't know how or when it happened and I don't care but I'm sure that I've never wanted anything more in my life than I want to be with you." I reach forward and pull her into a deep, passionate kiss that muffles her speech.

"You talk too much." I whisper when we part and she slaps me across the chest.

"Three weeks, huh?" She asks.

"Three weeks." I nod affirmatively.

"Three weeks too long." She hits me with that gorgeous smile of hers. "See you then…Cap." She replies with that evil little twinkle in her eyes. That little nickname usage of hers thrills me right down my spine. She piles into the car with my family and they're off the to the airport.

I walk over to the team bus and see the guys loading things up. "Hey, Cap!" Carey cheers. "See you at the combine in a few days, huh?"

"You know it." I smile. Doc and Carey are both draft eligible this year too. "At least I'll have a few guys to eat with at the cafeteria." I give both of them pats on the back as they load on to the bus. Then comes Spencer. "Off to Hartford?" I ask

"Yeah." He replies. "Gotta another set of playoffs to win." He grins. "See you in the show, Cap?"

"Better believe it." I shake Spencer's hand and he climbs on the bus. Next it's Huddy. "What about you, off to Chicago for the AHL Playoffs?"

"I hope so." The smiling Czech grins at me. "I hope our paths will meet again."

"Me too, you old straight-shooter." Huddy gives me a hug and climbs on to the bus. Last up is Josh Stafford. "They still making you load the bus, rookie?"

"Still a rookie." Josh replies with a smile. "See you at school tomorrow?"

"Yeah." I nod. "But in case I don't, Josh this is your team next year. You've got a hell of a lot of talent kid, there's a reason you're adding two new trophies to your collection. Make sure you lead the boys back to the Promised Land next year, okay?"

"You bet, Cap." Josh lurches forward and gives me a hug before climbing on the bus.

"Always sad when a season ends." Nolan walks up behind me dressed in a leather jacket and holding a bike helmet under his arm.

"If you think you're riding in the bitch seat on my bike, you got another thing coming." I tell him with a chuckle.

"Don't have to." Nolan tells me. "When I was ordering motorcycles earlier in the year, I made sure to order from a Kingston dealer because I had faith that we'd get here." Nolan and I walk across the parking lot to where his new bike is sitting next to mine. "At least now I got some company on the highway."

"I'll be damned." I smile. The two of us saddle up for the ride home. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to wear a helmet for a while after yesterday." I tell him and he laughs.

"One more time, Cap." He tells me as we fire up our bikes and head out on to the road. We take one last look back at Kingston and head for the highway.


	11. The Graduation Part 1

I just undertook the largest single person voyage I've ever undertaken. Sometime early yesterday I got on my motorcycle in Kitchener, Ontario and hopped on Highway 24 all the way to Highway 403. Got off the 403 at the junction with the Queen Elizabeth Way and took the QEW all the way to the Fort Erie-Buffalo border crossing. From there, I got on Interstate 90 and rode it all the way to Erie, Pennsylvania and drove down to Sharon, Pennsylvania where I got on Interstate 80. Interstate 80 joins up with I-95 in Teaneck, New Jersey. Once I get on 1-95 I just headed south until I got to D.C. when I hopped off, weaved my way through the city and crossed over into Virginia.

When I'm home, my bedroom is the loft above the garage. It's a huge room but the reason I got it was because I'm the only one who wanted it. The loft has two rooms with three stairs between them. The room at the top of those three stairs is my bedroom and the room at the bottom is divided between a games room and a bathroom. Right now though, I've got my back flat down on the floor of the garage and I'm inspecting my bike to make sure I didn't do too severe damage to her on that trek yesterday.

"I was told you were back." I hear a very familiar voice say. I slide out from under the bike and see Sasha standing there wearing a tank top and a very nicely cut pair of jean shorts. Suddenly, I'm silently thanking God for the egregious heat of Virginia summers.

"Yeah, Jack always did have a problem keeping his mouth shut." I groan as I get back to my feet. I take the few steps necessary to reach her and I take her in my arms. "Hey, baby."

"Hey." She replies in a tone barely above a whisper. "Long three weeks."

"For me too." I tell her. "Five days in Anaheim pounding my lungs out on the bike, doing reps on the bench, and going through any number of strength, balance and endurance tests; I was interviewed by 25 NHL General Managers and five sports psychiatrists and the whole time all I could think about was you."

"Good to know I wasn't alone." She whispers back. We kiss for a quick second before continuing to gaze into each other's eyes. "We just going to stand here or are you going to invite me up?"

"You girlfriend, you don't need invitation." I tell her and she takes me by the hand and leads me up the stairs. "I've got grease on my hands and some on my face, probably a little in my hair. Any extra-curricular activities you've got planned are going to have to wait for me to wash up." I walk over to the bathroom, peeling off my t-shirt as I walk and tossing it over on the couch in the games room. I step into the bathroom slowly cursing that old dirty white t-shirt when I realize I've got a little grease just below my collarbone. I stand over the sink and slowly wash the grease off my hands and face. A smaller, olive skinned arm appears around from behind me, takes the water and wipes the grease off my chest.

"You missed a spot." She teases me.

"You gonna help me get it out of my hair, too?" I ask.

"If you ask nicely." She teases me again. I take her hands in mine.

"I know we're in that stage where we're really touchy-feely, but we don't have to be all the time." I tell her. "A large part of the reason I'm in love with you has nothing to do with our physical compatibility."

"And you listen to me. I know the person you are very well and that's why I'm in love with you too. But I also spent the better part of high school wanting to be _with_ you. If you think you're going to use chivalry to deny me that pleasure now, you're going to disappoint me, Mister. And you wouldn't want to do that now, would you?" She questions with a raised eyebrow.

"Shower's kind of small." I tell her.

"So am I." She gazes up into my eyes. I squeeze my fist tight. I badly want to peel every piece of clothing off her body _with my teeth. _

"I'll just be a second; I'm just going to rinse my hair." I kiss her lips lightly. "Why don't you head off to my room and make yourself comfortable? I promise, I'll be out in less than eight minutes." She sighs and walks out of the bathroom. I make sure the water is awful damn cold when I step into the shower. Within a few seconds, I've got all the grease out of my hair and I'm just trying to collect my thoughts. Having her here, being home, this is a whole different comfort level. I guess I'm having re-entry problems. I step out of the shower and stare at myself in the mirror. I keep repeating a mantra to myself "_I can't let her think this is just physical, I can't let her think this is just physical."_ I wrap a towel around my waist and head out of the bathroom. I climb the three steps to my bedroom and push back the curtain that I've used for three years as a door.

She's lying on my bed wearing my favourite red bathrobe. One of her long olive skinned leg sticks out from under the robe and it's bent just so as to make the eyes follow it up to where the robe is closed again. In this instant I realize one thing, she got her hair cut. I probably should have noticed earlier, but I thought she just had it pinned back. "Your hair looks nice." I tell her.

"I was wondering when you were going to say something." She smiles at me.

"I spent eighteen hours on the back of a motorcycle yesterday, maybe the sun was still in my eyes." I joke with her. My resolve breaks when she smiles at me again. I leap on to the bed and pull her into my arms. She giggles a little as my arms wrap themselves around her waist. I start kissing her neck and her fingernails rake up and down my back. She takes a little bit of control when she pushes me on to my back and climbs on top of me. I sit up latch on to the sash of the robe with my teeth and pull. The front of the robe opens up and I start kissing at her belly-button vowing not to stop until I reach her neck. My lips are about at her sternum when I hear a knock on the wall and a face pops through the curtain.

"Whoa!" A male voice shouts and I roll my eyes.

"Damn it, Arleigh." I groan and Sasha climbs off me pulling her robe closed. Arleigh steps back through the curtain. I get off the bed, drop my towel and pull on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. "What do you want?" I demand of my cousin as I step through the curtain.

"Well, Jack called me and said that you got home at like 9:30 last night, so I figured I'd drop by and see you." Arleigh explains with a knowing smile. "Guess I wasn't the only one."

"Yeah, but I prefer _her_ greeting." I reply with a chuckle.

"Jack told me that the two of you had finally…" Arleigh's voice trails off.

"Well, he has a big mouth, but yeah." I nod. "Hear you're graduating tomorrow."

"Yup. And I hear you added a Memorial Cup ring to your trophy collection." Arleigh throws the small talk right back at me.

"It's due in a few days via FedEx." I smile. "I hear that since you and my brother took Bishop O'Connell to a state championship this year, you've decided to diverge. He's headed to Boston College to be a star quarterback and you're off to Annapolis to be a star running back."

"You're brother's got a little more courage than I do, I didn't want to go too far from home." Arleigh explains. "Do her parents know about you two?"

"You know what? I don't know." I tell him. Sasha walks through the curtain after having put her clothes back on. "Honey, have you told your parents about us?"

"Uh……well, see the thing about that is that with exams and studying, graduation and everything, I just kind of…you know…forgot." Her eyes are pleading for me to understand.

"Riiight." I answer. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. "You know that this means we have to go tell your parents right now, right?"

"Do we have to?" She groans as I head back into my bedroom for a second to pull on a pair of jeans. I toss a pair of jeans out to her. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"How exactly did you think we were getting from McLean to Great Falls, love?" I question as she moves back into my room.

"I figured by car." She tells me as she pulls off her jean shorts. I crack a pretty wide smile at the pink pair of panties she's wearing underneath.

"Nope, I haven't had the chance to take you on the bike yet." I smile at her and she roles her eyes at me. She pulls on my jeans and they fall right to the floor. She crosses her arms and stares at me. I toss her a belt. She pulls the jeans back up and tightens the belt. "I'm gonna get you for this."

"Well, babe, I could always buy you leather pants for the next time, but we might not make it to the bike." I smile at her and kiss her quickly on the lips as I walk by. I don't need to see it but I know she rolled her eyes at that last comment. The two of us walk out of my bedroom and across the loft to the stairs. Arleigh finally realizes that we're actually going to leave now and he tries to catch up with us as we head down into the garage. I toss her a red helmet and a jacket. "I did manage to pick you up a few things on the way home yesterday." She seems to like the jacket but tosses an annoyed look at me when she has to put on the helmet. I slide on my own helmet and jacket before getting on the bike and firing it up. "Hop on." I tell her.

She climbs on the back of the bike and wraps her arms around my mid-section. "How hard should I hold on?" She asks.

"As hard as you can." I tell her. She holds me even tighter and I finally realize there's a whole other part of owning this motorcycle that I just love. I steer us down to the end of the driveway and pull out on to the road. She holds on really tight as we exit McLean and work our way toward Great Falls. About halfway through the trip, her grip on my abs lets up a little. By the time we pull into the driveway at her parents' house, the sudden impact of what I'm about to do has just hit me.

"Alright, what's your plan, smart guy?" Sasha questions me.

"Simple, you're going to go into the house and tell your mom. I'm going to take your dad aside and tell him the truth." I tell her simply.

"Okay, so just one thing though." She cuts in. "My mom knows."

"I thought you said she _didn't_ know." I question her.

"No, I said I didn't tell her. My mom _is_ a Supreme Court Justice after all, she's no investigative slouch." Sasha reminds me. "She just kind of figured it out."

"And she hasn't told your dad?" I keep pushing this.

"Neither she nor I have a death wish." She tells me and kisses the end of the nose. "Good luck, honey." We get off the bike and head up to the house. She opens the door and walks in and I hesitantly follow her. I'm standing there in the entry hall to their house just trying to work on exactly what I'm going to say to Mr. Rabb.

"Hey, Brad!" Mr. Rabb cheers as he walks into the hallway and he shakes my hand. "I heard you've been crossing the continent for the last few weeks."

"Been giving my passport a pretty good workout, sir." I chuckle.

"Sasha also says that your mom and dad bought you a restored Harley for your birthday, mind if I go take a look?" He asks me.

"Not at all, sir." I push open the door and me and Mr. Rabb head out into the driveway. "Enjoying the Senate recess, sir?"

"Your mother and I spent the last five months working on an immigration reform package only to come up against a bipartisan effort to kill the bill." Mr. Rabb informs me as we head down the driveway. "Always good to know that one bipartisan effort gets rejected by another." He walks around the bike in the middle of the driveway. "Your old man has great taste in motorcycles."

"Apparently it was Jack that picked it out." I tell him.

"Still…I had a bike when I was younger." He informs me. "You really gotta watch the speed limits; the cops will make a bee-line for any young guy on a motorcycle who's breaking the speed limit even a little."

"Good to know." I plaster on a smile. "Mr. Rabb, there's something I think I gotta tell you."

"Am I gonna like it?" He asks.

"That really depends on your perspective, sir." I answer. "I think it's a good thing. See, sir, your daughter and I have kind of started dating." He looks like he wants to say something but I figure that it's better for the moment if I just keep talking. "Now, before you say anything just yet, I figured I should clear up a few things. I am completely in love with your daughter, I know that sounds cliché but it's true. My intentions are good, I'd like to assure you of that even though I'm not sure exactly how I can. I'm well aware how tough it is to find a woman like her."

Mr. Rabb stands there, his arms crossed across his chest, he's just glaring at me and nodding his head. "Are you done?"

"I think so." I nod nervously.

"Well, I know you to be a nice kid, I know you have a direction in your life and that you're capable of working really hard for something if you want it badly enough. Most importantly, I can see it on my little girl's face whenever she's around you that she's happy with you." He walks over and gives me a pat on the shoulder. "What matters most to me in all this is her happiness and as long as that is what matters most to you, I don't think you and I will have any problems."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Sir, I just want you to know that if my and Sasha's dating should ever evolve to a certain other level on the relationship scale, I will absolutely come to you for your permission first."

"Okay, but for both our sake's let's just hope that's like six or seven years down the road, alright?" The two of us walk back up to their house. "So, are you going to make it to the graduation tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir." I nod. "Though, I'm not looking forward to wearing a tie, it seems like I've only been wearing suits lately."

Sasha's staying at her house tonight before graduation and I'm heading back home, likely to take care of the bike a little more or maybe shoot some pool with Harry up in the loft. When I get back to the house, I see Jack, Tim and Arleigh standing in the driveway with the Roberts boys A.J. and Jimmy. We're all interesting physical contrasts. Dad tends to refer to Jack, Arleigh and I as "the skyscrapers" I'm the shortest one in the group; Jack and Arleigh are both a little over six-foot-four. Tim's known as "the short Ross" because at just under five-foot-eleven, he's dwarfed by the rest of us.

The Roberts boys are the real interesting contrast. A.J. Roberts just looks like he stepped out of Top Gun. He's a tall, lanky and blonde, all of which we know he got from his mom's side of the family. A.J. was a star Safety with Annapolis football before graduating and now he's an F-22 pilot at Pax River. Jimmy's the opposite, he's shorter, stouter and dark-haired. But he's smarter than a whip and all Roberts, there's no mistaking it from the moment you meet him.

"Hey Brad, we've been challenged to a game of three on three." Jack cheers as I pull the bike into the garage and close the door. I toss my jacket off. "You, me and Timmy against the rest of them." Jack sends the basketball my way. We've got a basketball net above the garage door. I chuckle and toss the ball back over to him. "I'd hate to embarrass Ensign Roberts on his first leave."

"Bring it on, Ross." A.J. takes the ball from Jack and checks it to me at the top of the key.

"Alright, just let me test something out first." I take the ball, eye the net and line up a shot. I move back a step to the arc and hang a three pointer toward the basket. It careens in off the backboard and I smile. "I'm ready. Take it out above the arc." I tell him and we trade positions. The game starts up by A.J. firing a pass over to his little brother. Jimmy works into the paint down low with Tim guarding him. Jimmy tries to bounce a pass into Arleigh under the basket but Jack takes it and heads out to the arc to change the possession.

Jack lobs a quick pass over to Tim. Now, my little brother's a solid athlete but his strength has always been playing shooting guard in a basketball game. It's just a pity he never tried out for a team. He looks me right in the eye and nods. He sends a great three point shot up toward the basket. I go running for it but I've got to make sure I time the play just right. The ball bounces off the backboard and smacks against my palm. Even though Arleigh's trying to get between me and the basket I slam the ball through the hoop with authority. Both Arleigh and I come down hard on our feet on the pavement.

"Damn, I forgot you were good at this _too."_ Arleigh groans.

"Natural athlete, my friend." I smugly tell him as I check the ball to him. He sends the ball to Arleigh who's moving hard through the key Arleigh pulls a lay-up and sinks the basket.

"Me too, Ross." A.J. taunts me as he checks the ball back to me at the top of the arc. I smile at him, lean back and hang another three pointer on the basket. This time it swishes through the mesh without ever touching the backboard. The ball falls through to the pavement and a resigned A.J. Roberts takes the ball and hands it to me as we switch positions again.

"We're gonna be at this all day." I tell him as I check the ball to him. He sends a pass over to Arleigh. Arleigh moves into the paint before sending a no-look pass up to Jimmy at the top of the key. Jimmy fires up a shot that Jack bats away from the basket and it lands on the pavement. For the next hour or so, the six of us sweat our way around the basketball court trying furiously to be the first team to twenty-one. We're up 20-17 and A.J. checks the ball to Jack at the top of the key. Jack moves the puck over to Tim at the far right side of the arc before heading into the paint under the post. I cycle out to the free throw line Tim moves in toward the key before tossing a no-look pass out over to me. I dribble for a few steps before making a hard drive to the basket and leaping into the air. A.J. goes up with me to try and knock the biscuit back in my face but I slam it down over him.

"21-17, game over boys." Jack takes the ball and bounces it over to Arleigh.

"Yeah, we'd better be getting home." A.J. nods at Jimmy and the two of them head for their car at the end of the driveway. I shake hands with A.J. and he gives me a pat on the back. Jack , Tim, Arleigh and I sit down on the grass next to the driveway.

"Damn, I miss three-on-three games." Jack groans as he sips from his water bottle. "Just hasn't been the same since you went to Canada and Arleigh went off to flight school. We've been trying to have Harry and Tommy Rabb stand in for you guys but it's not the same."

"Yeah, Tommy's a pretty good athlete but he's just not tall enough to play with the big boys yet." Arleigh tries to push his hair back. "Harry's kind of small and enjoys burying his nose in a book, he's kind of like little Timmy that way." Arleigh pushes Tim back on to the grass.

"Hey, I drained a couple from the field out there on the court and I'm going to be playing hockey for Yale next year." Tim counters.

"Yeah, but your brothers going to the NHL, Jack's heading to Boston College for football and I'm headed off to play football for Navy, so I guess among us, you're the weak one." Arleigh jests.

"Yeah, well I'm headed in for a shower." Tim gets up off the grass and heads up toward the house.

"I should probably go get some rain room time as well, I got a date tonight with Mary-Lou Penner." Jack pats me on the shoulder as he walks by and on up to the house. I get up from the grass and pick up the basketball. Arleigh gets off the grass and motions for the pass. I toss him the ball and he hits a jump shot from just inside the key.

"So, you and Sasha, huh?" Arleigh questions as he chases down the ball.

"Yup." I nod as he passes the ball back to me. "It's a great feeling man."

"Sex with her? I bet." He chuckles and I toss a hard pass at him.

"Come on, that's my girlfriend, man." I shake my head at him.

"I've known you since we were toddlers, bro, I know when you want to get something off your chest." He watches as my shot ricochets to the side of the basket after hitting the backboard.

"Yeah, I would like to be able to tell my buddies that I'm dating her without them telling me how hot she is. Like I don't already know." He tosses the ball back to me.

"Well, it took you four years to ask the girl out, you'll have to excuse us if we don't entirely trust your judgement in this regard. And as to the first thing, boo-fucking-hoo for you; your girlfriend's hot and you don't like that we joke with you about it, get over it. It's a blessing from God." Arleigh walks over and smacks the ball out of my hands before firing another jump shot at the basket.

"Yeah, you're right." I run over to the basket and collect the rebound off the backboard.

"Your brothers been trying to get it out of you about what she's like in the sack?" Arleigh asks me.

"Not just them, most of my hockey team back in Kitchener." I tell him as I pass him the ball.

"Well, you're being unusually tight-lipped then, because I remember after you had sex at the World Juniors last year with that USA Hockey chick, you were bragging about it for months." Arleigh laughs, takes a few steps and dunks the ball.

"It's different with Sasha." I tell him.

"How so?" He questions as I open the garage door so we can put the basketball stuff away.

"Well for one thing, it's better." We share a laugh. "For another thing, Samantha was just kind of a random hook-up at the time. We're friends now but we met maybe eighteen hours before we had sex. Sasha's my girlfriend, that comes with certain obligations and responsibilities and stuff that I haven't had to really deal with before."

"True." Arleigh nods his head. "So, no fooling what's _it_ like with her?"

"Fantastic!" I enthuse. "If sex got any better, it would be fatal."

He laughs. "You coming to the graduation parties tomorrow night?"

"Of course." I grin evilly.

I'm standing here at the back of the school auditorium with Tim. Tim graduated like ten days ago, around the same time I did. He actually got a graduation ceremony, for me it was just me and the other graduating Kitchener Rangers from Eastwood High who then had to head off to Anaheim for the draft combine. There's a pretty good sized graduating class here. I can see Jack, Jimmy and Sasha all sitting together, since students are seated in alphabetical order – Rabb, Roberts, Ross - and Arleigh is sitting up near the front. Sasha's the Valedictorian, so she gets to deliver a speech that I know she's spent the better part of the last week working on.

Up at the front of the auditorium, the Priest is finishing up the prayer that starts the ceremony. After he leaves the lectern on the stage, the principal takes his place. I honestly could give a crap less about the highlights and moments to remember for this senior class at Bishop Denis J. O'Connell. Really, I can think of a hundred more entertaining things I could be doing right now but I'm not hear to listen to the principal's address. I'm here to support my beautiful, loving girlfriend and when this ceremony gets to that part, there really is no place I'd prefer to be.

The Principal's address stretches on for about twenty minutes at the end of which is the presentation of academic awards to the graduates. When Sasha wins both the math and science awards, Tim and I engage in a little boisterous clapping and I let out a few enthusiastic whistles from my spot along the wall at the back of the auditorium. When the football coach calls up Jack to receive the school's award for athlete of the year, we engage in the same spectacle minus the whistling. By the time the presentation of the academic awards is over, everyone has come to the realization that we've been in this auditorium for almost an hour and no one has received a diploma yet.

The Principal once again takes to the lectern to introduce the valedictorian. Sasha's got her speech in hand as she strides toward the middle of the stage. She looks great. She's got a great knack for make-up, even though she's not really one of those daddy's princess- girly girl types. She always appears very understated and cute. She clears her throat and launches into her speech. Earlier in the week she was apparently flipping out, worrying about whether her speech was going to be any good. So, Jack set her up with dad's former main speechwriter from when he was President. Morley's a hell of a writer, so I'm sure all he did was help Sasha add a little flare to her speech while retaining all the points that she wanted in the speech.

She's got a pretty engaging speaking style; I think it's the result of a natural charisma she has. It's a quiet kind of charisma, the kind she conveys solely with her eyes and with her smile. She can make everyone feel like she's looking just at them. When she links eyes with me at the back of the room at she blushes. She's done that a lot lately. I think it's one of two things, either she can't believe we're openly in love or she thinks I'm picturing her naked. Admittedly, the two are not mutually exclusive. After a speech of about fifteen minutes, she finishes and the entire auditorium is on its feet. Tim's cheering and I'm whistling at the back of the auditorium. Sasha's blushing as the Principal shakes her hand and makes her the first to receive a diploma.

Thank God this ceremony is soon coming to an end. Tim and I hoot and holler when Arleigh gets his diploma, then again when Jimmy Roberts gets his and last when Jack gets his. Then all the graduates toss their caps into the air as their congratulated aloud over the sound system. The graduates mingle with their parents and photos are taken at a rate resembling teen pop star arriving at a restaurant based on the Hall of Mirrors. Sasha's getting pictures with her parents, Jimmy with his, Arleigh with his and Jack with ours. Tim and I are talking about whether or not the Phillies can win their division this year.

After about twenty more minutes, our friends collect out in the lobby of the auditorium. "So, what are we going to do and where's the party tonight?" I ask looking to Jack and Arleigh for an answer.

"Well, those of us currently wearing ties and dress shirts for graduation purposes are going to need to go change. And the party is at Shelley Newton's house tonight because her parents are out of town." Arleigh explains.

"Well, we can do this all in one trip then." I theorize. "We'll all hop in Jack's car, we'll stop at Sasha's first so she can change, then Jimmy's because it's between our house and Sasha's, finally we'll stop off at our house. Since Arleigh only lives right down the street and Shelley Newton lives around the corner, we can kill the remaining birds with one stone."

"Sounds good." Sasha nods.

"I'm on board." Arleigh chimes in.

"Mom and dad want to take me and A.J. out for dinner since he doesn't get a lot of leave time. But I'll stop by at Newton's party later on." Jimmy explains and the rest of us nod.

"See you there." A bunch of us pat Jimmy on the back and head out to Jack's car. For our birthday this year, Mom and Dad got Jack a very nice restored old Pontiac Firebird. Arleigh climbs into the shotgun seat. I'm in the back sandwiched between Tim and Sasha. I've got my arm wrapped around my girlfriend and her shorter haircut is being lightly tousled by the wind. I kiss the top of her head lovingly and she looks back at me. "What was that for?"

"I was really proud of you during that speech." I tell her and she nestles against my chest. Jack drives us from Arlington out to Great Falls. The whole way Jack and Arleigh are talking football, you just know that if Boston College plays Navy next year, those two are going to be having all kinds of fun advising their coaches on how to shut the other one down. When we stop in front of Sasha's house, she gets out and runs up the driveway to the house. I sit in the car with the guys mostly talking about sports. My cell phone rings and I pick it up. "Hello."

"Brad, it's Kate. Listen, I just got off the phone with the General Manager of the New York Rangers, he didn't speak with you at the combine but he wants to interview you tonight. He's going to be in Washington for a family wedding and wants to know if you can meet him at the Capital Grille at 6pm for a drink tonight." My agent explains to me over the phone.

"Yeah, tell him I can make it." I tell her.

"Alright, you'd better be on time, Brad because if you're late or you don't show, it looks bad on me and worse on you." She lectures me and hangs up the phone.

"Who was that?" Jack looks over the front seat at me.

"Kate, she wants to know if I can make it to a meeting with the General Manager of the New York Rangers for an interview tonight at the Capital Grille. I gotta change into a blazer when we get home, throw on my leather jacket and helmet, get on the bike and head for D.C." I tell my brother. There's a few moments of silence and Sasha heads back down the driveway toward the car. She opens the door, puts on her seatbelt and curls up against me again.

"Why's everyone so quiet?" She looks around.

"Brad, you wanna field this one?" Arleigh jumps in.

"What did you do now?" Sasha looks slightly annoyed.

"I got a call from Kate about five minutes ago saying that I have an interview with the General Managers of the New York Rangers at the Capital Grille tonight." I wince as I finish my explanation.

"No, Brad, you were finally home and the season was over this was going to be one of the few times we could spend without hockey and finally getting to have a real relationship." She answers and I feel really bad. I know the guys are about to laugh so I pre-empt their smirks.

"Guys, mind your own business for the next few minutes or I'll introduce you to a few alternate uses of a hockey stick." I tell them and there's silence. "Honey listen, it's just a quick meeting, you head off to the party with these guys and I'll meet up with you when I get their."

"Brad, it's your brother's graduation, it's your cousin's graduation and it's the first time your whole family's been together in what, like four months? Six months? You couldn't just say that you couldn't do it tonight but you'd be willing to meet him any other time, any place he wanted?" She questions feverishly, shaking her head at me. Jack pulls the car into our driveway back home and we al pile out.

"Listen, when we first agreed to go out, you_ knew_ that I was in the draft this year, you _knew_ that I wanted to be a professional hockey player. How is it that you feel you have a right to be pissed off here?" I accuse her. Why I've gone here I don't know but Jack and Arleigh are standing behind her emphatically waving me off and shaking their heads, their eyes wide with shock. She's got her hands on her hips and her lips are pursed.

"You may be one of the most self-absorbed, egotistical, eighteen year-old men I've ever met." She goes into a tirade. "You _may_ be a good hockey player, I don't know. But if you think that's all it takes to be a good person, you got a hell of an awakening coming." She storms off up to the house with Jack, Tim and Arleigh and I head for the garage. I pull off my old t-shirt and pull on a golf shirt, blazer and leather coat. I fire up my motorcycle and pull on my helmet. What the hell is with her?

I love this bike. It's a great way of forcing you to think out your problems. I wind through the streets of Arlington and cross the bridge into the District. I love the Capital Grille; it's got to be one of the best restaurants in the city. I park my bike in a place I know is secure and trot down the block to the restaurant. "Ah, Monsieur Ross, comment ca va?" Henri the Maitre'D greets me as I enter the restaurant.

"Tres bien, Henri. Et toi?" I smile at him.

"J'ai ete mieux." Henri answers.

"La merde arrive." I joke and he laughs. "In all seriousness, Henri, I'm supposed to have someone waiting for me at the bar, it's an interview."

"Ah yes, right this way." Henri takes me to the bar where Mark Shanahan is waiting for me. Shanahan is a taller man in his early fifties. He was a legend in his day when he played for New York.

"Mr. Shanahan." I shake his hand as I sit at the bar next to him.

"Brad, glad you could make it." He nods at me.

"Hope you haven't been sitting here long." I tell him.

"Less than five minutes, don't worry about it." Mike assures me. "I _am_ getting hungry though, the food at my hotel sucks. What's good here?"

"They do a great dry aged sirloin and filet, of course if you like veal this is the place for it." I tell him. He waves the bartender over.

"Can I get the filet, rare with vegetables?" Shanahan tells the bartender and the two of them just look at me. "You gonna order something, kid?"

"I wouldn't want to impose." I tell him.

"Nonsense, you ever heard of the expense account? I sit here and interview you, I can write off my meal, my hotel and even my cab fare to the restaurant as a business expense, go nuts!" Shanahan says enthusiastically.

"As long as you're sure." I'm still unsure of the ground I'm walking on in this conversation.

"Absolutely." He tells me.

"Can I get the Swordfish Jardiniere?" I ask the bartender who nods and heads over to place our orders.

"You'll never guess who I was talking to." Shanahan starts and I raised my head in inquiry. "Spencer Kraft, I was up in Hartford for the Wolf Pack's Calder Cup celebration. I can't believe that kid had four goals and ten assists in the last two playoff series. Anyway, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said I could draft you."

"Awful nice of him." I say.

Dinner took a lot longer than I planned. Shanahan and I got to swapping stories over dinner and an interview that was supposed to end at 7pm actually ends about quarter to nine. This isn't going to make Sasha feel any better about the whole damn thing. I hop on the bike and head back home. I pull my bike into the garage, toss my jacket and my blazer on to my bed and head for Newton's party around the block.

As I walk into the party house du jour, I hear the loud thumping bass of the music and the smell of beer is undeniable. I stride around the crowded house looking for my friends when Arleigh and Jack intercept me. "Hey man, before you blow your top, we tried to stop her."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" I question, the worry plaguing the back of my mind. The direct me through the house to the sunroom at the back where two of Sasha's girlfriends have her hoisted in the air by her legs doing a keg stand. There is a surrounding pack of guys counting the seconds she's been drinking. The rage festering in me is now leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "Put her down." I tell the girls through gritted teeth and they lower her back to her feet. I turn to the guys who were counting. "You all have better things to do than watch me rearrange your faces, now scatter." I tell them and they can tell I'm not fucking around.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the superstar!" Sasha chants tauntingly. "What's with the hissy fit? Afraid of getting a little dirt on your halo?"

"More like worried what will happen to you if your parents catch you drunk off your ass." I answer. "How many of those keg stands have you done?"

"Like…I dunno, maybe two." She slurs. Jack has his hand up in the air with all his fingers pointing up to tell me it's actually five. "What's it to you, you pretty much told me today that you had better things to do than spend time with me. You know, you can be a real bastard sometimes." She tries to walk toward me but stumbles. I catch her on the way down.

"That's it; I'm getting you out of here to sober you up." I tell her.

"And what if I don't wanna go?" She tries to sound defiant, really she just sounds tired. "Superstar, always has to be the hero."

"I've thought of that, too." I tell her and hoist her up over my shoulder. I walk through the house carrying her and back out the front door.

"Are you gonna put me down?" She asks through her drunken haze.

"Are you gonna try and run?" I try very hard not to sound angry or condescending.

"Maybuh…" She sounds a little odd. "Oh, I'm gonna be sick." I immediately lower her down off my shoulder. She bends over to throw up and I make sure her hair is out of her face. After a few minutes, she stands quasi-upright again. "I'm okay now."

"Not quite." We keep walking back toward my house. "But you will be soon." We get to the house and I take her up to the loft.

"So, what's you're grand plan to sober me up, Einstein?" She questions, still slurring heavily.

"This." I tell her as I bring over a bottle of water. "Drink up; it'll lessen your hangover." She eyes me suspiciously before gulping down the bottle of water. I head over to the mini-fridge and pull out another bottle. "Thirsty, huh?"

"No, I'm trying to impress you." She shoots sarcastically. She gulps down the second bottle of water. "Is this your grand scheme?"

"Just phase one." I tell her. After she's done the second bottle. I take her gently by the hand and lead her into the bathroom.

"What now?" She asks.

"Shower." I tell her. "I can be in here, if you want or I'll stand outside with the door open."

"Why with the door open?" She questions with a harsh tone.

"Because if you pass out in the shower, I've got to be able to hear it." I tell her. "So, in or out?"

"In." She tells me reluctantly. She slowly peels off her clothes as I turn on the shower and she climbs in. "Will this really help?"

"Helped me after the boys initiated me up in Kitchener last year. Also, it'll help wash the beer and puke smell off." I tell her.

"So, you've been drunk, what's wrong with me getting drunk?" She accuses me.

"I was in private and a thousand miles from the Washington press, I also didn't do it in anger, which you obviously have." I tell her. "You know that you can't do this stuff, reporters around here would love to use it to try and embarrass your parents."

"Yeah, whatever." She says as she climbs into the shower. "Why's the water cold?" She asks.

"Because it works better this way." I tell her. After a few minutes in the shower she steps out. "You feel better?" I ask her.

"A little." She answers. I wrap my bathrobe around her and she ties the sash closed. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Actually, I'm being a little bit of a prick." I tell her. "But I swear, I wouldn't do this if I didn't love you." We head into my bedroom and I close the door behind us. "Feel free to use any of my stuff as some pyjamas and get some rest."

"You're not taking me back home?" She walks over to my dresser.

"We both know that would only land you in trouble. I've got both your cell phone and my cell phone on me in case your parents call. With your mom's history with the bottle, there's also a solid chance this would only stir up some sleeping ghosts." I explain to her as I sit on the edge of my bed. She pulls on a pair of my boxers and an old USA Hockey t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. "Honey, get some sleep. I'll make sure you aren't disturbed." I head for the door. "Also, be sure to sleep on your stomach." I smile at her and close the door.

I spend the next three hours or so playing pool in the loft and watching a movie on the television. I check up on her periodically to make sure she's sleeping well and on her stomach. Around one in the morning, I hear a creak from my bedroom door and the soft padding of feet heading toward me I turn around to see her walking toward me. "Hey." I smile at her.

"Hey." She walks over and gives me a loving hug. "I said some harsh things to you."

"Wasn't you talking." I tell her as we sit on the couch.

"It was a little bit thought." She explains to me in a weak voice. "A part of me really resented that you had to go today. I know you want to be a professional hockey player, I know it's your dream but I have looked forward to just having some time with you for a long time." She curls against me. "It just seems like there's always an intrusion."

"Hey, you come first." I kiss her cheek. "The reason I'm in love with you is because I know you're a secure enough woman to realize that I have this dream and that you won't be threatened by it…eventually."

"For all we try not to act like it, I guess we have to remember that we're still only kids." She hugs me even tighter.

"Does your head hurt?" I brush the shorter strands of hair out of her face.

"A little." She answers, a subconscious hand going to her temple. "Do you always wake up a lot when you've been drinking?"

"Yeah." I nod at her. "It's one of the reasons not to do it to excess." We share a smile and she rests her head on my shoulder.

There's a few moments of silence as we just watch the movie. Then I swear I can hear a loud urgent shout "BRAD!!" There's a few seconds of break and then another one "BRAD!!" It's getting louder. "BRAD!!" It's in the garage downstairs. Sasha and I get up and rush over to the stairs where we seen Jack and Tim standing at the bottom.

"What?" I ask.

"Come quick, it's Uncle A.J., they had to rush him to the hospital, it looks like a stroke." Tim explains.


	12. The Graduation Part 2

"What? How do they know it's a stroke?" Brad rushes down the stairs to commiserate with his brothers.

"I don't know, Aunt Beverley just called dad like five or ten minutes ago bawling her eyes out. She basically just told him what the paramedics told her." Tim explains. "At this point, we really don't know what the hell it was."

"Well, we'd better get down to the hospital. Tim, you're staying here." Brad starts directing the action.

"Why am I staying here?" Tim protests. "I'm just as much a part of the family as you are."

"I know you are but someone's got to stay here and take care of Harry and Hannah. I'd tell Jack to stay here but I'm pretty sure that Harry has blackmail material on Jack, so there's no way he'd take any of Jack's orders seriously." Brad jokes but Jack nods seriously. "Second, we need Jack's car because there are three of us headed to the hospital and only two people can fit on my motorcycle at one time."

"Fine, I'll stay home." Tim resigns. "Just who put you in charge, anyway?"

"I'm the oldest, it's a natural instinct." Brad trots back up the stairs toward my side.

"You're the oldest by thirty-four minutes; it's nothing to call the press about." Jack comments.

"You get the car ready." Brad sternly looks at Jack. "And you keep a close eye on Harry and Hannah, don't tell them a damned thing, that's mom and dad's job." Brad turns his attention on Tim. Tim nods and heads toward the house. "You can change if you want, I took the liberty of cleaning your shirt, there was a little……excess on it."

"Brad, you can say 'vomit' with me, especially if it's mine." I tell him and he shakes his head. "Wait, you do laundry?"

"Yeah, something my billets taught me when I was living in Kitchener." He trots back down the stairs and returns a few seconds later with my t-shirt. It's really clean. I may have hit the jackpot here; he's nice, he's funny, he's athletic and he knows how to do laundry without me telling him to.

I take off his USA Hockey t-shirt and pull on my favourite t-shirt which I wore to the party earlier tonight. It's a black t-shirt with _The Pretenders_ written across the front and an image of Chrissie Hynde with a guitar around the front. "What about my shorts I tell him?"

"It's kind of chilly out tonight." He tells me and tosses me a pair of Kitchener Rangers sweatpants. "Don't worry; they're from last year when I was a complete bean-pole. They might still slip right off you but they've shrunk a few times in the washing machine, so you never know."

"Thanks." I pull them on. He's right, they're a little loose but otherwise they're comfortable and well broken in. I get the feeling that this is the point where I start slowly taking parts of his closet and making them my own. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, come on." The two of us head downstairs, both trying to hide our concern for the man we both know lovingly as 'Uncle AJ'. I close the door to the garage behind us and we hop into the backseat of Jack's car. Jack hits the gas and bolts out of the driveway on to the street. Now, I'm used to driving with Jack and he _does_ drive like a maniac but on this particular night he seemed to completely disregard all notion of the speed limit.

He stopped in a parking lot about a block from the hospital and the three of us sprinted the last block. The doors to the hospital slide open and we rush into the waiting room for intensive care. Sitting there are my parents, the boys' parents, the Roberts' and of course Beverley and Arleigh Chegwidden. My parents rush over and my mom wraps me in a big hug. I look over and see the boys speaking with their parents.

"Where's Tim?" I hear Mr. Ross ask Brad.

"Someone had to stay home with Harry and Hannah; I designated Tim for that task." Brad tells his parents. "What do we know?"

"All we know is what the doctor told Beverley about fifteen minutes ago. It's an intracranial haemorrhage, which is a kind of stroke. Beverley said that A.J. had been experiencing headaches for the last few days but said they were periodic. They were doing some preliminary treatment for him but the doctor seemed sure that they would need to perform surgery." My dad leans in and explains to me and the Ross boys.

"But they've got him stabilized?" I question.

"They wouldn't or didn't say, either way we're not sure." My dad answers and we all nod. I watch as Brad goes over and slumps down on the wall next to Arleigh. It's amazing that the two of them can spend months apart and still act like brothers when they're together. Moments later, Jimmy Roberts comes running in to the ICU and my dad briefed him on the situation. My mother and I wandered off to the kitchen to grab a couple of cups of good old Marine coffee.

"So, I bet there's a reason you're wearing your boyfriend's sweatpants?" My mother mutters knowingly. "You're lucky your father didn't notice."

"How did you?" I question.

"The word 'Rangers' down the side was a bit of a giveaway." My mom smiles. "Don't worry; most of your father's sweatshirts were in my closet before we even started dating." My mother and I share a fond smile when Brad comes trotting into the cafeteria.

"The doctor's coming out into the waiting room." He tells us, pointing back to the ICU waiting room. The three of us head back out into the waiting room of the ICU. I can hear my heart beating in my chest. It's thundering incredibly loudly, it feels like the blood is rushing to my ears. Brad has his arms wrapped around my shoulders as we wait for the doctor to give us the news.

"Secretary Chegwidden experienced what is known as a subarachnoid haemorrhage which is a severe kind of intracranial stroke. In the simplest terms, it's a severe bleeding into subarachnoid space around the brain which is a small cavity on the surface of the hemispheres of the brain. Now, contained in this cavity is cerebrospinal fluid and it is active in the blood drain barrier in the brain. This kind of haemorrhage is incredibly tough to contain in even the best of circumstances. I'm afraid to say that we are not going to be able to save him." You can see the young doctor swallow the lump in his throat. "He is still alive in a medical sense for the time being, but I can't say with a medical certainty for how long that will be the case. I would suggest that those of you who wish to say your goodbyes do so now." He blinks hard. "I am truly sorry for this, I hate that I couldn't do more."

The collective mood of the people in this room has just plummeted through the floor. I feel the tears coming to my eyes and Brad pulls me into his chest. I can hear his heart race in his chest but he's trying to make sure I'm okay. I've got my arms wrapped around his waist and we sink against the wall of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Ross along with Jack and Arleigh are trying to comfort an absolutely distraught Beverley Chegwidden. Arleigh and Mrs. Chegwidden are the first people in to say their goodbyes. After a few moments, my parents who worked with the Admiral all those years ago at JAG, follow them in. After them, the Roberts disappear down the hallway to the room and return a few moments later. Then Brad takes me by the hand and tries to lead me toward the room but I shake my head.

"No, no, I can't." I tell him. He nods and disappears with his brother, mother and father down the hallway. I go off in search of the doctor who delivered the news. I find him sitting in a hallway a few corridors over with his scrub cap in hand and his head between his legs. "Thank you…for what you did." I tell him and he looks up.

"I didn't do much." He tells me. "I tried, but none of it seemed to matter, the damage was just too extensive."

"How do you deal with that kind of helplessness?" I ask him. "I want to be a doctor, but I just don't know that I can deal with that."

"In medical school, I had a teacher, a Doctor Hunnicutt, back in medical school who told me that there are only two absolutes in medicine. The first is that people die and the second is that doctors change number one." He tells me simply. "You can tell yourself that over and over again but it all changes when you have to look in the faces of people whose loved one is about to die or has just died and tell them that there was nothing you could do. Those people have placed their trust in you and you feel like you let them down."

"So, why be a doctor at all?" I don't like the bleakness of the picture he just painted.

"Because the times when you _can_ do something, the times when you save a life normally end up outnumbering the times you lose someone. That makes you an overall positive force in the universe as far as your working life goes. Really, the happiness you see when you save someone's life is a more permanent emotion than grief." He tells me. "But you should be getting back to your family, they need you now."

"Thanks, doctor." I tell him as I walk away.

"Not a problem." He replies. I walk back down the hall and I see the Ross family and the Chegwiddens re-entering the waiting room of the ICU.

"Bev, Arleigh, you guys are welcome to stay at our home for a while if you feel the need to be around family." Mr. Ross offers.

"Thank you, Nathan." Mrs. Chegwidden nods her head slowly. Jack's standing next to Arleigh with a supportive hand on his shoulder. Together, the whole group of us walk through the hospital and out the doors toward the parking lot. Before we can get in the cars to head back home the whole group of us exchange hugs. This is going to be a very rough few days but looking around, I'm glad that I've got such a great group of people around me.

FOUR DAYS LATER…

Beverley Chegwidden, my father and Mr. Ross have spent the better part of the last four days together planning every last detail of today. Mr. Ross, using the clout extended only by former Presidents was able to organize a Navy colour guard. My father helped Mrs. Chegwidden run every errand she needed to run in order to prepare the funeral and the burial. Right now, we're all sitting in the church as a close friend of Reverend Chegwidden's conducts the service. I'm sitting next to Brad in the pew. In front of us is sitting Brad's parents and across the aisle from us are my parents. The Reverend has gotten to the recitation of Genesis 3:19 and _grant eternal rest unto thy servant._

After a few more moments of the service, it is about to be at an end and the pallbearers rise out of their pews. It's a group of six. There's Arleigh Chegwidden, the three oldest Ross boys, my father and Bud Roberts. Normally, one of the Ross boys would make a joke about Bud's height and the casket being lopsided but no one has said anything, not a sound has been made since the Reverend started speaking. The men hoist the casket up and being the walk up the middle aisle of the church. I look around the church as I follow the precession with my eyes and I realize the magnitude of people here. Vice President Turner is here, the Secretary of State is here, Uncle A.J's daughter Francesca and her mother are here and a large amount of military uniforms are in attendance. Eventually, the crowd follows the precession out of the church and the casket is placed in the hearse.

The pallbearers then re-climb the steps of the church to re-join their families. Only a small group will be going to Arlington for the burial. It'll be his immediate family, the group of his closest friends from JAG and few others. Brad and Tim are heading back to the Chegwidden house to make sure that everything is all prepared for the wake after the burial service. I will be heading back to the Chegwidden house with the boys. It's not that we didn't love our Uncle A.J., God knows we all did, but our parents knew him well and knew him for a much longer time and were much closer to him. This was their time to truly say their final goodbye and it seemed like a good idea to let them have their final goodbye without having to concern themselves for two hours about whether or not they're good hosts.

I give my parents a hug and then join the boys over at the car. Jack and Tim climb in the front seat and Brad climbs in the backseat with me. The whole car ride is taken in complete silence, which is eerie since these boys have never been silent about anything in their entire life. We pull into the Ross' driveway and walk down the block to the Chegwidden house. In their identical black suits, it's exceedingly tough to tell Jack and Brad apart. But having been latched on to Brad's arm for most of the day, and having known the boys since they were really young, it's kind of easy for me.

Arleigh entrusted Brad with his key to the Chegwidden house. Brad unlocks the door and we step in. "Alright, let's set everything up, people should be arriving here very soon. Honey, why don't you greet people as they come in?"

"I can help with the other stuff you know?" I ask him.

"I know, hun, but you seem to be the cheeriest person in this group today and not to mention the easiest on the eyes. It just seems logical for you to be the one to greet people." He puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses my forehead. "Just until my dad gets here, he can take over at that task."

"I love you." I tell him.

"I love you too, baby." He wraps me in a quick hug. The boys set up what needs to be set up for the wake and then they stand around uncomfortably playing host for the early arriving guests. Among the first people to arrive are some of Uncle A.J's colleagues from his days as a SEAL and as a surface warfare officer. As the house begins to fill up, I catch Brad casting glances out the window waiting for our parents to pull up the driveway.

Eventually, they do arrive and the parents take over the hosting duties. Aunt Beverley is offered condolences by everyone in attendance.

_Harm's POV_

The burial service at Arlington was incredibly well done. The last few days have been a lot tougher on me than I ever thought they would be. It may be that you never realize how much of an impact someone has on your life until they die. A.J. was really a mentor for me as I made the tough transition from carrier life to JAG. I'm sure that he let me get away with things that no other commanding officer would have ever let me get away with.

Right now, I'm standing in the Admiral's old living room – yes, he'll always be the Admiral to me – with Bud and Sturgis talking about our time at JAG under Admiral Chegwidden. I look around the room and I'm overcome with a sense of deep understanding, it amazes me that one man's life could touch the lives of all the people in this room and God knows how many more. Bud goes over to comfort Harriet who, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, has broken down into tears again. It's not that Harriet's the only one. Mac has spent the better part of the last few days fighting back her own set of tears.

My eyes move across the room as I take stock of all the people here. I look across the room to see my little girl standing with her boyfriend speaking with Francesca. I guess all this contemplation of mortality has me looking on with amazement at how fast my daughter has grown up. I never would have thought when I first walked into A.J. Chegwidden's office more than twenty-six years ago that I'd be standing here all these years later as a Senator from Virginia, with a seventeen year-old daughter who's dating the son of a former President.

"You know, Harm, you might have been able to take the kid ten years ago." Sturgis goads me.

"To be honest, I'm not experiencing the kind of paternal protectionism I thought I would be when Sasha brought her first boyfriend home." I chortle to myself a bit. "I guess I'm just encouraged by the fact that she made such a good choice her first time out. God knows it's not a claim Mac or I can make."

"Yeah, well that's definitely true." Sturgis jokes and I shoot an annoyed glare at him.

"Really, Sturgis, you sure you don't want to think about that opinion first?" The two of us laugh lightly.

"What was it Admiral Chegwidden used to say about your choice in women?" Sturgis keeps going. "More able to fill out their bra than their skull."

"Are you quite finished?" I shake my head.

"Nah, I can call over Bax and Keeter and we can make fun of your ex-girlfriends properly." Sturgis jokingly offers. Just then, a junior officer comes walking over to me and salutes me. This kid's too young to have ever served with the Admiral, why's he here.

"Admiral Rabb, sir." He says.

"Senator Rabb now, Lieutenant." I tell him. "At ease." I know I've seen his face before but I can't quite place it. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Lieutenant…"

"Don't you recognize me, sir?" The young man questions with a wide smile. "Josh Pendry, sir. Well, Lieutenant Josh Pendry now, I suppose." I smile and pull Josh in for a hug.

"Josh, it's nice to see you again. But what are you doing here?" I question.

"Well, sir, about ten years back, the Admiral made good on a promise from when I was a kid when he offered to write me a letter of recommendation to the Naval Academy. I figured it was appropriate for me to pay my respects." Josh explains. "But I've got to be heading back to Norfolk, sir. So, I figured I'd just touch base with you before heading out."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Thanks, Josh." I smile and pat him on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir." Josh nods at me and heads for the door.

"Who was that?" Mac questions as she joins me and Sturgis.

"Believe it or not, Josh Pendry." I tell her. "He joined the Navy after all."

"Good for him." Mac smiles and settles in against my shoulder. "What were you two talking about before Josh walked over?"

"Harm's lousy choice of girlfriends before he married you." Sturgis answers before I have the chance to stop him. "More specifically what the Admiral used to say about them."

"I was privy to more than one of those conversations." Bud Roberts comes walking over.

"Me too, sir." Harriet adds as she dabs under her eyes. "He was a really good man."

"He certainly was." I nod slowly. For a second, there's silence in our little group. "I don't think I'll ever forget him telling me that there was no crying in JAG ops!" Harriet laughs a little.

"Or that look on his face when he realized he was going to have to deliver little A.J. on the floor of his office." Mac adds and the laughter spreads a bit.

"That time we all got arrested at Bud's bachelor party." I chime in and the volume of the laughter goes up. "That man put up with so much crap from us."

"US?" Sturgis jumps in. "It was mostly you two." He indicates Mac and myself.

"Like when he busted Webb's nose after we flew off to Russia half-cocked." Mac says. "He did seem to enjoy that though."

"Well, at least that part of it." Bud adds and I see a round of genuine smiles begin to sprout. And then another voice joins our chorus.

"And then there was the time that he ordered Rabb and I to strip blouses and go at it in order to settle our differences. I don't believe I've ever been that sore for a court appearance before or since." Mic Brumby joins in.

"Brumby, I didn't realize you were here." I try not to sound too annoyed.

"Well, I'm the military legal attaché to the Australian Embassy and when I read the notice in the paper, I figured I should come pay my respects. Admiral Chegwidden was a very good commanding officer. Blokes like that certainly aren't everyday men." Mic explains. I notice that Bud, Harriet and Sturgis have all slowly backed away from us. "So, you two finally got things together, eh?"

"Yeah, and like everyone says, we know it took us long enough." Mac wraps her arm around mine. "So, you're back in D.C."

"Nice little assignment I've worked out here." Mic grins. "So, how many kids?"

"Three." I tell him with a smile. "Tommy and Matt are around here somewhere but our daughter Sasha is over there." I point over by the fireplace where Sasha is standing with Brad Ross and Jimmy Roberts.

"She looks just like you, Mac." Mic tells my wife.

"She hates hearing that." Mac tells him. "She really wants to be her own person."

"Seems to have found herself a chap she's quite keen on." Mic indicates how Sasha's pretty attached to Brad.

"Yeah, it took the two of them awhile too." I chuckle a little bit. "He's a good kid."

"Looks like a bit of an athlete." Mic comments. "Let me guess, she was the high school cheerleader and he was the All-American?"

"She was the valedictorian." Mac tells him proudly. "He'll be playing professional hockey next fall."

"And a bloody nice pair they make too." Mic smiles fondly. "Well, I just figured I should pop in for a moment after the service. Nice to see you're both doing well. Congratulations, Rabb."

"Thanks, Mic." I nod and shake his hand firmly. The Aussie takes a few strides and exits the house. The kids come walking over and look curiously at the door.

"Who was that?" Sasha inquires.

"Mic Brumby." Mac answers.

"_The_ Mic Brumby, famed in song and story?" Sasha jokes. "I would have liked to have met him just to see if all the stories were true."

"Wouldn't have done you any good, Sash." I tell my daughter. "He wasn't the same Bugme I remembered." Me and Mac share and knowing laugh for a few seconds before Beverley Chegwidden makes her way over.

"Has anyone seen my son?" She asks, the concern evident in her voice. Me and Mac shake our heads.

"I haven't seen him, Aunt Bev." Brad states.

_Sasha's POV_

"Oh dear, I haven't seen him since we returned from Arlington, I'm rather worried about him." She sniffles lightly.

"We'll organize a few people to go look for him." I tell Mrs. Chegwidden. Brad and I head across the room to gather up Tim, Jack, Jimmy and A.J. to go look for Arleigh. Jack and A.J. are going to hop in Jack's car and head for the school. Tim and Jimmy are going to check out some of Arleigh's favourite hangouts in Arlington. Brad and I are just going to search the neighbourhood on foot.

We all head out of the house and to our respective tasks. Brad and I walk down through the neighbourhood arm-in-arm checking out places in the neighbourhood that we think Arleigh might be. We check the ravine behind the Chegwidden house, the local park and even a few of the nearby sports bars. On our way back up toward the Chegwidden house, Brad gets a brainstorm and we head up the driveway of his house. Brad sees the garage door open and heads for the stairs while telling me to get on my phone and call the boys into the house. After a few seconds, I've got the troops rallied and headed for the Ross house and I hesitantly walk up the stairs. As I near the top I sit on the stairs and watch Brad go to work.

"Hey, buddy." I hear Brad say tentatively to Arleigh who's slumped down against a wall. Arleigh just grunts at him. "What's going on?"

"Stupid question." Arleigh mutters at him.

"You know what I mean, you've never hidden from anything in your life. Even when we were kids and watched horror movies." Brad slumps down next to him. "You finding it a little hard to hide from the grief?"

"No, you idiot, I'm trying to understand why my father had to die!" Arleigh rebukes his cousin as he rises to his feet. "See, you don't understand, you get to live the charmed life. When you get drafted next week, your old man is going to be with you. When you play your first game in the pros, your old man will be watching. Well, when I play my first football game for Navy, my dad won't be with me. He won't get to see me graduate from Annapolis. Those are things I know he would have enjoyed but he's not going to get to see them!" Arleigh's voice is nearing a full shout.

"You're right, he would have." Brad adds, I can tell that he doesn't know quite what to say. "Man, I know what you're going through…"

"Do you? Do you really?" Arleigh charges. "You spend your whole life running away from the people you care about. Can't hold down a steady girlfriend, have to run off to Canada to play hockey, globetrot with USA Hockey at Christmas. You have no idea what it's like to loose someone close to you because you don't let anyone get close to you. So, excuse me if I don't quite believe that you know how I feel!" Arleigh puts his hands in the middle of Brad's chest and shoves him to the floor. "My dad was a great man, Brad. You wanna be useful? Tell me why he had to die!"

Brad gets up off the ground and gets in Arleigh's face. "Listen to me, damn it. I don't know why your father had to die, nobody in this world does. Perhaps we'll never know why some people have to die and some people get to live. But if that's all you can focus on, then you're sure as fuck missing the point. In the end, the hows, wheres, whens and whys of death just aren't important. It's in the living that we find our knowledge and it's in the life that we take our solace. There is no solace, no closure in death, only emptiness. Now, you can spend the rest of your life wondering why or you can remember the kind of man your father was, and you can take the lessons of his life to shape the kind of man you want to be. And let me say, as role models go, they don't get much better than your dad." Brad's trying to match Arleigh's level of intensity and he's doing a pretty good job of it. "Grief is important, when someone we love dies we have to grieve for that kind of loss but we can't let that emotion define who we are."

Something in Arleigh breaks. You can see the tears well up in his eyes and he lurches forward and grabs Brad in a big bear hug. "I'm sorry, man. I just miss him so damn much!"

Brad gives Arleigh a few hard pats on the back. "I know, man, we miss him too." Brad tells his cousin. I walk over from the stairs and put my hand on Arleigh's back. He breaks the hug with Brad and he leans down and gives me a big hug. The boys arrive in the garage and climb the stairs up to the loft. Arleigh smiles when he sees the rest of the guys come up the stairs and they each take a turn at giving him a bear hug and a pat on the back. "I was saving this for when the lot of us where together and out of earshot of our parents. I picked it up when I crossed the border from Canada a few days ago. It's a kind of Newfie Rum called _Screech_." Brad comes out with the bottle and a few plastic glasses.

He hands the glasses out to everyone. He pours about a little bit for everyone and then puts the cap back on the bottle. "Arleigh, you want to take this one?" Brad asks his cousin.

"To my dad, a great influence on my life and a great human being in general. The world could use a hell of a lot more like him." Arleigh raises his glass.

"Amen." Jack adds and we all take a drink.

We all walked Arleigh back to the wake and spent a few more hours with him before the crowd broke up around 10pm. Brad and I walked back to the loft together. We're sitting in the living room watching a movie on the television and curled up under a blanket on the couch. At about 11pm, I can tell that Brad's feeling a little restless and I want to help him feel at ease. "What is it, hun?" I look up at him.

"It's just, I wanted to give you something but I was worried that…with everything that's happened you'd think it was because I'm thinking about death and mortality and all that." He gets up from the couch and heads off to his bedroom. He comes back with something in his hands and I'm staring at him with a torrent of emotions going through me. "I wanted to give you something that really meant something to me in order to show you how I feel. I know it's not going to seem like much but it really does come from the heart." He opens that big right hand of his and inside is a delicate gold chain with some kind of thing hanging from the middle of it. "It's my Memorial Cup ring. I figured it would look kind of big and gawdy on my finger and even worse on yours but on this little chain, it looks smaller and much more understated."

I honestly don't know what to think. If you've ever seen a sports championship ring, it's not exactly the most beautiful piece of jewellery in the world. He's right, they tend to look big and they have all the subtlety of a pink elephant. So, he's right in that it's not a piece of jewellery I would ever buy for myself but at the same time, it does mean an awful to him considering what he went through to win that championship and get these damn rings. He places the chain around my neck and look down at the little ring dangling from my neck. I can see something on the inside of the ring and I bring the ring up to my eyes. There's an inscription. It says: "I couldn't have done it without you" I smile and kiss his lips. "I love it, thank you." I tell him and he smiles.

"Good, because I've got a bit of a question to ask." He keeps going. "Do you want to come out to Anaheim for the draft next week?"

"Are you kidding? My boyfriend taking me out to Southern California? I'm there." I say enthusiastically and we curl up on the couch again. We fall asleep together in the soft glow of the television screen.


	13. The Draft

Anaheim, California is absolutely beautiful! You know what? If Brad gets drafted by Anaheim, I may just have to transfer out to USC. We're out here a few days before the Draft, so that everyone can get a little vacation time in. Mr. and Mrs. Ross took Harry and Hannah to Disneyland. Jack and Tim have headed down to the beach to check out the girls. Brad and I are still trying to get out of our hotel room here at the Doubletree Anaheim Resort. After getting up late, uncharacteristic of both him and me, we ordered room service and settled in for breakfast in our room.

"I can't believe you actually slept late!" I apologize if this is something weird to sound enthusiastic about but he's a workaholic who needs to learn how to relax.

"Yeah…" He says with some reluctance.

"What did you do?" I'm getting pretty good at seeing through him.

"I got up early this morning, went down to the fitness room and ran about three miles on the treadmill before doing another three on the bike. I came back up here, took a quick shower, towelled off and crawled back in bed with you." He smiles at me and takes a large spoonful of his cereal.

"You're telling me that I'm such a deep sleeper that you were able to get out of bed, get dressed, go work out for a pretty long time, come back up here, have a shower and climb back into bed all without my waking up?" I question with evident disbelief.

"Well, to be fair it was about quarter to six this morning when I got back from the gym and you do have the tendency to snore a little bit, hun." He takes a drink of his orange juice.

"I do not snore." I tell him emphatically.

"Not loudly, no. But it's a little squeak, it's cute really." He chortles a little and I playfully smack him across the shoulder. We didn't get to spend much time together yesterday. Brad got rushed into a filming session for commercials and the video montages for the Draft. So I went for a walk around Disney's California Adventure with his siblings. Last night, when Brad got back to the hotel he took me down the street to the Anaheim GardenWalk for a nice casual dinner.

Today, we're just going to spend the day together. We finish breakfast and Brad sits on the edge of the bed. "So, what do you want to do today?" He asks me.

"Well, I don't know, all this talk about you sneaking off in the early morning hours to go exercise has me feeling a little guilty, so how about we start with a quick trip up to the rooftop pool?" I suggest.

"Alrighty, guess we should get throw on our suits then." Brad grins at me as a I saunter passed him. Little does he know that I picked up string bikini while I was shopping yesterday. I can't wait to get his reaction to this bikini. I open the door of the bathroom and step into the doorway.

"Oh, Brad." I say in a light, teasing tone. He turns to look at me and I watch him get this slow carnivorous look in his eye. "Brad?" I question sounding a little worried. He starts to move toward me and within scant few seconds. He's got his hands roped around my waist and he's standing behind me kissing my neck. "Brad!" I try to sound displeased with his decision-making but he's slowly driving me wild. "Brad." I try to sound serious so that we might actually get up to the pool but then he starts tickling me just under my ribs and I can't help but giggle. The two of us tumble down on to the bed; me on top of him.

My head rolls back as he starts kissing his way down my body, starting with my neck. "What about the pool?" I moan as he unties my bikini top.

"We can have more fun and better exercise here." He mutters from just below my breasts. For once, his idea's _much_ better than mine.

Slightly over an hour and another rendezvous in the shower later, we're dressed again and ready to head out. "Okay, now what do you want to do?" He asks as he finishes tying his shoes

"No, no, you asked me that a little while ago and we ended up doing what you wanted to do anyway." I tease him with wide grin.

"Yeah, but this time you aren't wearing a tiny red bikini which ought to be illegal…when worn by you anyway." He yammers through an explanation.

"Oh, so it's my fault?" I question as I move over and stare questioningly up into his eyes.

"No, no, no, it's both our faults." He tries to recover some ground here. "See, an addiction is as much due to the person who's addicted as the substance to which they are addicted."

"And you're addicted to me?" I question as I lean in to him.

"Oh baby, you have no idea." He says as he leans in and quickly kisses me on the lips. Considering the teeth-rattling orgasm I just had, I wouldn't bet on his last statement. "Before we go out, I just wanted to have a quick little talk with you."

"What's on your mind?" I sit on the edge of the bed with him.

"We're near L.A., it's the media capital of the world, and while I don't mean to sound like someone with an over-inflated ego, if you're out in public with me, you're going to get your picture taken and things are going to be written about you." He starts to explain but I press my finger to his lips to hush him.

"We were friends all through high school and things were written about me, you don't think I know this by now?" I look right into those big dark teddy bear eyes of his.

"Yeah, but it's different when it's People Magazine." He says. "And in high school it was before you and I were dating, they didn't have any pictures of us kissing in public. It becomes a different thing when they get stuff like that."

"And we'll deal with it together." I tell him as I take his hands. "A few photographers sure as hell aren't going to keep me from kissing you in public." I get up off the bed. "Now come on, we've only got one more day before we've got to spend tomorrow in a stuffy auditorium with a bunch of hockey people listening to names be called."

"Alright, let's go." He wraps an arm around my waist and we head for the door. The door shuts behind us and we walk down the hallway. He sticks his hand in my back pocket. I smile to myself and shake my head.

"You only have one thing on your mind, huh?" I look up at him.

"Honey, if you've ever looked at yourself naked in the mirror, you'll know why." He can't honestly think that line was smooth can he? Oh well, he's eighteen, he'll learn. I just keep shaking my head. The two of us get in the elevator and ride down to the bottom floor. We get off and walk through the lobby. "So, you were at Disneyland yesterday, what do you want to do today?"

"How about a nice stroll down the GardenWalk for some shopping, they've got some great restaurants down there if we get hungry." The two of us head up the street toward the GardenWalk.

"Alright, well the day's on me okay?" He tells me.

"Listen, I don't want you feeling like you have to be my sugar daddy, okay?" I stop and look at him.

"You're my girlfriend, I enjoy paying for you. Hell, I was raised in a house where my father told the boys that that was what was expected of us when it came to dating." Brad explains in a bit of a hurry, worried that he's done something wrong.

"I know but…" I shake my head a bit. "You know upstairs when you said that people would write things about me, since we're together?" He nods and I keep explaining. "Well, I can put up with pregnancy speculation and wedding rumours, I can put up with break-up gossip and infidelity water-cooler talk. But the one thing that irritates me is anyone thinking that I'm only with you because……well, because you've got money."

"Listen to me." He brings a big hand up lightly cups my cheek. "I'm with you because I love you and I'll happily remind you of that whenever you want." He's getting better with this whole smooth thing. I lean in and kiss him softly on his lips. His arms come around my back and pull me in closer. Oh God, I do love his tongue. I look up at him with what I'm sure are a pair of goo-goo eyes.

"Come on, let's go shopping." I pull his arm and we walk up the sidewalk.

After a few hours of trying a bunch of things on and not buying anything, I think we're finally ready to head to dinner. "How about a little trip to Bubba Gump's?" Brad asks as we continue our walk down the Boardwalk.

"You sure you want to go there? Isn't it a little casual?" I ask as we head over to the restaurant.

"Never let it be said I don't enjoy some good old average American food." Brad smiles and we head into the restaurant. Now, I'm a little sceptical by nature of any restaurant themed on a movie. Also, I'm from D.C. which is home to some of the best restaurants in the country, so I get kind of peculiar about the restaurant when I eat out. We walk in and the hostess escorts us to a table. She hands us some menus when we take our seats and she tells us that our waiter will be with us momentarily.

"This place is nice." Brad looks around taking in the scenery.

"It's okay." I tell him as I scan the menu. "What are you looking at getting?"

"I don't know, I haven't looked at the menu yet." Brad smiles and me and opens his menu. Our waiter heads over to the table.

"Hi, my name's Joe, I'll be your waiter tonight." He says as he claps his hands together. "Just before we get started, a few of the girls on the serving staff were wondering, are you Brad Ross?"

"Yeah." Brad tells him leaning over the table.

"Well, the girls and more than a few of the waiters and the manager were wondering if we could get a staff picture with you?" Joe the waiter asks Brad.

"Hey, no problem." Brad gets up from the table. "Just tell me where to stand." Joe points to a place just under a Bubba Gump's logo and Brad stands there. Joe shouts for the rest of the serving staff and the manager They all gather around Brad and Joe takes a picture with everyone smiling.

"Thanks a lot." The manager shakes Brad's hand. "And hey, your dinner's on the house."

"Thanks." Brad smiles and shakes his hand. He heads back over to the table. "Awful nice of the manager."

"I think it was awfully nice of you." I tell him. "I mean, you're just trying to eat dinner, right? You didn't have to give them a picture."

"Come on, now. They asked nicely, I figured I was just being a nice guy. Besides, our dinner's on the house." He tells me with a smile.

"Well, here's a small world!" I hear a vaguely familiar voice say from across the restaurant. Brad looks over my shoulder and smiles a magnificent tooth-filled smile.

"Nolan!" He cheers and rises from his seat. He wraps his hockey pal in a big hug. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You haven't seen ESPN today, huh?" Nolan has a jolly smile on his face. "I'm a Boston Bruin now. I got traded early this morning in a trade that involved a swap of both draft picks and prospects. Marty Schaefer, our Team USA team-mate, is now a Philadelphia Flyer and I'm a Boston Bruin."

"An interesting turn of events." Brad comments. "Why don't you join us? Brad invites his friend and I shake my head.

"I don't know boy, it looks as though you're with the Missus." Nolan jokes.

"Nolan." I warn in a stern voice.

"Alright, alright." Nolan sits down. "So, you pumped for the draft tomorrow, kid?"

"I've had the butterfly symphony going in my stomach all day." Brad shakes his head slowly. "I don't know why. I wasn't even this nervous before our Memorial Cup games."

"It passes, trust me." Nolan says as our waiter comes over and hands him a menu. "I just saw you having your picture taken with the staff and figured I should pop in and say 'hi'."

"Glad you did, man." Brad slaps him on the shoulder. "What were the Calder Cup Playoffs like?"

"A challenge man, it was like jumping from one frying pan into another." Nolan laughs. "Spencer's team eliminated us in seven games, it was tough as hell. Speaking of our old Rangers colleagues, Carey and Doc are here, you know?

"You know, I hadn't thought about it but I guess they would be." Brad grins and looks at the menu as our waiter comes back over.

"Can I get you all anything for an appetizer or to drink?" The waiter inquires.

"Yeah, can I get a Cherry Coke?" I tell the waiter.

"I'll have an orange juice and some Cajun shrimp." Brad tells the waiter.

"I'll have a root beer and some Cajun shrimp." Nolan adds. The waiter nods and heads back toward the kitchen.

"So, Nolan, why exactly are you in Anaheim?" I turn toward Brad's friend. "I would have figured, what with being traded and all, you'd be at home in Massena with your family."

"I would have been but the Boston General Manager called me at home and told me to catch a flight to Anaheim to be here for the Draft, so here I am." Nolan informs us.

"Well, good to see you." Brad gives him a clap on the shoulder. "So, I heard there's a lot of jockeying for that number one position tomorrow."

"_A lot_ is an understatement." Nolan laughs. "Last I spoke with the guys in the Boston war room, they said that Vancouver, New York, Dallas and a few others were all trying to trade in order to ensure they're the first on the podium tomorrow."

"Sounds like an interesting day." I mutter. "What've you been doing since you guys dropped out of the AHL Playoffs?" I try to sound pleased and I keep reminding myself that I had a private dinner with Brad last night. I also try to tell myself that it was inevitable that we'd run into a few fellow hockey players Brad knows.

"Cap!" Another voice cheers. "And Superman!" We all look over and see Carey and Doc standing at the hostess stand. They jog over and greet Nolan and Brad. "One hell of a coincidence seeing you two here."

"Yeah." Brad waves them over to the table and the two newest guests bring chairs with them. "So, you enjoying the Southern California weather?"

"Slightly less humid than back home in Canada." Doc informs us. "But not by much. All in all, I'm glad I got here yesterday so I could get some golf in."

"Good thinking." Brad raises his glass to him. We all sit around talking for a few minutes before our waiter comes to take our orders. You know, once I stopped being so particular, I actually found myself having a really good time. I know I was a tomboy when I was younger but now I do find it a little awkward to hang out with a bunch of hockey players. Even if one of them is my boyfriend.

About halfway through dinner, a young boy comes over and tugs on Brad's sleeve. Brad looks down at the young kid and smiles. "Donny! Donny!" A deep male voice calls and the man who must be the boy's father comes running over and picks up the boy.

"I'm sorry, sir, he kind of got away from me." The man nods at Brad.

"Not a problem." Brad grins. The child buries his head in his father's shoulder and hands him a piece of paper. The man looks at the piece of paper and then looks at Brad and then back down at the piece of paper.

"I hate to sound intrusive, but are you by chance, Brad Ross?" The man inquires.

"Yeah." Brad nods humbly.

"Well, I'm sorry to bother you, but we just got back from the Honda Centre, where they're holding the draft tomorrow, and little Donny here bought the Upper Deck card collection from this year's gold medal winning American Junior team." The man explains, trying very hard not to gush at Brad. "You're his favourite player."

"Well, that's nice to hear." Brad tells him.

"I was just wondering if you would mind autographing this hockey card." The man hands Brad that thing I had thought was a piece of paper.

"I'll go you one better." Brad tells him. "Does he have the rest of the set?" The man whispers something to his son and his son pulls a plastic carrying case full of hockey cards out of a shirt pocket. "You see two of these fellas were on the team with me." Brad points to Nolan and Carey. "The big guy's Nolan White who was a tournament all-star defenseman and the skinny guy's Carey Moore."

The child hands off Nolan and Carey's cards as well. It takes scant few seconds for the boys to sign the cards and hand them back to the child. "Thank you very much." The child's father tells the boys.

"Not a problem." Brad tells him and the child heads back toward his table along with his father.

"You guys don't mind having your meal interrupted to sign autographs?" I inquire, looking around the table.

"Not at all." Nolan shakes his head.

"See, we all know that hockey's still playing catch-up with the other major sports here in the U.S.A, so we don't feel we have the right to be stuck up pricks like baseball players or movie stars." Carey explains to me and I look to Brad who just nods. "So, when a fan asks for an autograph or a picture, what's five seconds out of one day?"

Dinner ends, we say goodbye to the guys who head off to their hotel and head back to our own hotel. "Are you okay; you seemed annoyed early on at dinner?" Brad asks me tentatively.

"It's nothing." I tell him with a small genuine smile. "I was just being superficially finicky."

"You didn't like it when the guys sat down at the table, huh?" Brad cuts right to the meat of the argument.

"Was I that obvious?" I ask as we take our time strolling back to the hotel.

"You get this kind of cute pouty lower lip when annoyed." Brad cracks his knuckles nervously. "But your mood did seem to change part of the way through dinner."

"Yeah, well I just realized that you haven't seen your friends in like a month and you're probably not going to get too much time with them tomorrow at the draft, so I decided to kind of just go with the flow." I tell him, staring down at the sidewalk. He snakes his arm around my waist and the two of us walk in silence for a few blocks before he starts talking again.

"You know, I've found I manage to love even the small things about you." Brad ponders as we walk into the lobby of the hotel.

"Oh yeah, like what?" I ask as we stand waiting for the elevator.

"Just the small things. Like that pouty lip when you get annoyed, or your bed-head when you wake up in the morning or that cute little squeaking snore you have." Brad smiles and the elevator doors open

"Hey guys!" Jack and Tim run through the lobby to join us in the elevator.

"Hey." Brad holds the door open for his brothers. "Good day at the beach?"

"Jack got slapped four times." Tim laughs boisterously.

"I got two phone numbers though." Jack points out.

"You approached ten women, that puts your success rate around at twenty percent." Tim shakes his head. "Pretty bad, Jacky."

"How did you do, Tim?" I look at the youngest triplet.

"Three for three." Tim claps his hands together. "Oh by the way, Jack and I figured that we ought to tell you guys to keep it down tonight, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Brad turns to his brother.

"Listen, not to be indiscreet but we could hear you guys through the heating register last night. We had a hell of a time trying to think of a lie we could tell Harry when he picked up on the noise. We had to tell him that Sasha had stubbed her toe on something. We explained you shouting 'harder' by saying that you wanted Brad to press harder with the ice pack. We had a hell of a time explaining 'faster' though." Jack laughs and gives Brad a pat on the back.

I must be blushing profusely and I bury my head in Brad's chest. "Mom and Dad didn't hear us, did they?" He asks tepidly.

"Nah, the sound bleed-through barely made it into our room, you weren't loud enough for it to make it _through_ our room." Tim assures us. "Though Mom and Dad have spent the whole day with Harry, so you two might not be out of the woods just yet."

"Oh God." I say into Brad's chest and I hear him lightly laugh and he strokes my back. The doors to the elevator open at our floor and we all step out of the elevator. Jack gives Brad a pat on the back and waits for a high-five. Brad slowly obliges and his palm smacks against Jack's.

"I've never been more proud of you." Jack gushes mockingly before heading off with Tim into their room.

We step on to the floor of the Honda Centre in Anaheim the next day and it's an awe-inspiring sight. On one side of the floor, in front of the stage, are tables for the 30 NHL teams. On the other side of the floor, separated by a barricade, are desks for the print media. Up in the private boxes, the television broadcasters have set up for the next two days. Today, they're slated to do the first three rounds of drafting with the first round obviously taking the longest. I woke up at seven this morning and I found Brad already sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room watching the NHL Network Draft Preview show.

You could just watch his eyes furiously observing the screen as video montages of his rivals. He watched the analysts talk about guys like Trevor Wood and Teemu Nommainenen and Antonin Kurapov and just nodded the whole time. He called for me when they did their feature on our friend Peter Ashby and we sat there watching it for about thirty seconds. He took it to heart when the analysts on TV picked apart his game, pointing out both his strengths and weaknesses.

But now we're standing on the floor of the Draft and Brad just seems be lost in all the lights and logos. "Brad! Brad!" We look up and see his agent standing up in the seats. We head up toward Kate. "And how's my favourite client?"

"Good to see you, Kate." Mr. Ross greets the agent on the behalf of the family. "Is there any word on who currently has the first overall pick and where Brad's likely to go?"

"Well, last I heard, the Dallas Stars had the first overall pick and Brad is slated to go anywhere between first and fourth overall." Kate explains. "Last I heard though, there was some movement involving the first overall pick. So, you never know what will happen before noon."

"How's Peter?" Brad asks.

"Sounding almost as nervous as you." Kate tells him with a smile. "With less reason, I know that one team that's drafting in the top ten is really stuck on Peter. So, he'll be chosen just a few picks after you."

"Good for him." Brad cheers and looks down at his watch. "I've got five to noon."

"Me too." I tell him as a I place my hand on his back. "You wanna take a seat?" He nods as we all file into the row of seats that correspond to the numbers on our tickets. Brad takes the seat along the aisle and looks at the stage only about a hundred feet away. You can tell that he's completely lost in the moment. He's been playing hockey since he was four years old; it's a sensation I imagine I'll only be able to emphasize with when I get my internship after med school.

You can hear the chatter of the draft floor permeating the entire arena. It's kind of like being on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange on a huge trading day just before a major business merger is about to be announced. I don't think I've ever seen my boyfriend this rattled. He's played in multiple gold medal games, major championship games, he's been through the OHL draft and a few selection processes for Team USA, but he's never looked as on edge as he does right now. I take his hand between mine and give it a little squeeze. "Remember, it's an honour to be drafted at all." I tell him calmly.

"I know." He nods furiously. "I just want to know where I'm going to be reporting to training camp at the start of September."

"Okay." I lightly kiss his cheek. The lower bowl of the arena is completely full with prospective draftees and their families. There are fans here dressed in the colours of their favourite team. The atmosphere slowly reaches a fever pitch along with the buzz coming from the floor of the arena as we slowly march on to noon Pacific Daylight Time. With exactly one minute to noon there's a chorus of shouting and ringing phones coming from the team tables. "What's going on?" I ask Brad.

"No idea. If I had a guess, I'd say there was some kind of big trade." Brad whispers in my ear. At that moment his cell phone rings and he picks up. "Hello. Hey, Carey……Where are you?" Brad looks over to his left and sees Carey standing in his seat and wildly gesticulating with one arm. "Got any news on what's creating the hubbub on the floor?...A trade? I figured. Any word who's involved?" At that moment the Commissioner of the NHL strides up on to the stage and the volume of the building goes down multiple decibel points.

"It is my pleasure to officially open the 2020 NHL Entry Draft and extend my thanks to the Anaheim Ducks franchise and the city of Anaheim for playing host to the National Hockey League this week." The Commissioner says into the microphone. "It's my understanding that we had some serious jockeying for the first overall pick this year and that we have a late-breaking deal that has just been confirmed by the league office." There's a buzz the zips through the rink as the commissioner takes a breath. "So without further ado, I would like to call Phil Neely and the Boston Bruins to the stage to start the draft with the first overall selection.

I watch a slow smile develop on Brad's face. He taps my shoulder and point to a tall blonde member of the Boston delegation walking on to the stage. It's Nolan White and he's holding a black, gold and white Bruins jersey. Neely steps up to the microphone and clears his throat. "With their first overall pick in the 2020 NHL Entry Draft, the Boston Bruins are proud to select from Kitchener of the Ontario Hockey League, Brad Ross!"

There's an eruption of chatter and the flashes of cameras on our section of the stands as Brad rises to his feet. He quickly kisses my lips, hugs his parents and then jogs down the stairs and across the arena floor to the stage. He bounds up the steps on to the stage and shakes hands with the Boston General Manager, the President of Hockey Operations for the Bruins and his old team-mate Nolan White. The Boston GM takes Brad's suit jacket and Nolan hands him the Bruins jersey. Brad takes it and pulls the jersey over his head. The number 20 is on the arm to denote the draft year and the name 'ROSS' is on the back. Brad fits the Boston Bruins cap on his head and stands between Nolan and Neely with his arms over the shoulders of the two men as they stand their for a photo op.

I'm having a hard time containing my own joy at this turn of events. Brad's gonna be in Boston next year!! My voice shrieks in my head. As tradition indicates, the first round pick goes back to the team's table on the draft floor with the rest of the team's hockey management people. I look down at the Boston desk and see Brad with the Boston jersey still on and a pair of big grey headphones on with a microphone in front of his mouth. He's obviously on television with some sports network somewhere in the world giving an interview. It's kind of amusing to think that my boyfriend is currently the top prospect for a professional hockey team. It's even more amusing to think that a bunch of us are going to be living in Boston next year and my boyfriend is going to be one of the most loved men in the city.

The rest of the Draft moves along pretty well. Vancouver takes Trevor Wood at second overall; Dallas take Teemu Nommainenen at third overall and the New York Rangers take Antonin Kurapov at fourth overall. It takes about twenty minutes for Colorado to make it's pick at fifth overall but eventually they do when they take a big defenseman from Western Canada. At sixth overall, the Carolina Hurricanes take to the stage and call out the name of Peter Ashby. I applaud enthusiastically, we've all known Peter since Grade Nine and he helped Brad build the hockey program at Bishop O'Connell High back home in Arlington. When the Toronto Maple Leafs draft at eighth overall they take Brad's buddy and fellow Kitchener Ranger, Nick "Doc" Bay. I look down and I see Brad and Nolan applauding while they sit at the Bruins table.

After the first round is done, Brad and Nolan come up to where we're sitting and join us. They're both wearing Bruins jerseys with their names on the back and carrying their suit jackets. You can tell that these two are just about as happy as they could possibly be today. They cheer loudly when the New York Rangers take their Kitchener team-mate Carey Moore with the 35th Overall pick early in the second round.

It's about three hours later and a bunch of us are headed out to dinner. It's Nolan, Brad, Jack, Tim and me. We all take a seat at our table in the restaurant and finally relax. "So, we're all going to be living in Boston next year, huh?" Nolan ventures forth in conversation.

"Not me, I'm off to Yale for school." Tim reminds us.

"Yeah, but the rest of us are headed to beantown." Jack comments as he plays with a fork.

"Gonna be interesting to be miles away from home." I say.

"You'll have us." Brad wraps one arm around my shoulders and he drapes the other over Nolan's. "Not to mention Jacky-boy."

"Damn right." Jack affirms.

After dinner, Brad and I take another long leisurely walk back to the hotel. "I can't understand how you did it." I tell him. "You left home at sixteen to go play hockey in Canada. I'm going to be almost eighteen and I'm worried about going as far as Boston. You didn't know anybody where you were going and I'm headed off with my boyfriend, a close friend of mine in your brother and another pretty good guy in Nolan White."

"The trick is to think of wherever you're going as home." He tells me as I rest my head on his shoulder. "It makes being there a lot easier."

"But doesn't it make it a little tougher to go home?" I ask.

"Maybe." He says. "And maybe that's just part of growing up."


	14. Dedication

A/N: I've been trying to keep up with the story since I got home, I really have

_A/N: I've been trying to keep up with the story since I got home, I really have. But I'm writing a story, one of the sub-plots of which is about young men trying to make it as professional hockey players and this morning one such young man died. For what it's worth, I've never met Luc Bourdon. But as a guy who grew up in Canada watching the World Junior Championships every Christmas, you feel as though you get to know the members of Team Canada and you get to really know the kids who play for the team in back-to-back years._

_Luc Bourdon was a gold medal winner with Team Canada at the World Junior Championships in 2006 at Vancouver and 2007 at Leksand-Mora, Sweden. He was the 10__th__ Overall draft pick of the Vancouver Canucks in the 2005 NHL Entry Draft and he died this morning in a motorcycle accident near his home in Shippagan, New Brunswick. I think we can all agree that at 21 years of age and with his dreams of playing pro hockey well within his reach, it was far too early for his family or the world to lose Luc. _

_Hockey fans everywhere and I hope fans of this story too will stand with the Bourdon family in this time of their deepest grief._

_I know that I have never met any of you in person and that I'm on very treacherous ground by saying this but please do what you can for the Bourdon family now. Even if it's saying a little prayer for them tonight, I'm sure every little bit helps. _

_For those of you wishing to do more, if there is any of you, and I understand if there isn't; a 28 donation (28 was Luc's number for Vancouver) can be made to the Canuck Place Children's Hospice in his name. For information, see below:_

payment./donations/canuckplace/donate/

_To all my readers, I'm sorry for this little spiel but I just felt like I should do something. I hope you'll all understand_

_Thanks,_


	15. Christmas Vignettes

_Ten Years Later..._

Snow whips around D.C like a Disney snow-globe around the holidays. The wind bustles in off Chesapeake bay and the tidewater breeze kicks up from Southern Virginia. The gang was all returning to the Rabb house in Great Falls for one final Christmas celebration. The wind carried with it the sound of holiday songs coming in from the highway. Seventeen year-old Matthew Rabb and his father were carrying in the Christmas tree around 3pm.

"Damn it, Matt, why did you have to pick the biggest one?" The elder Rabb grunted as they hauled the tree up the steps to the front door.

"Getting a little soft in your old age, dad?" Matt chuckled as he pried open the door and draped the massive Coast Douglas fir into the house. They carried it into the living room and propped it upright on its sawed off trunk.

"Harm!" Mac's voice could be heard from downstairs. "Don't let that thing get sap on the carpet or walls!"

"Yes, dear." Harm groaned while trying to prop up the tree. "Go help your mother find that tree stand." Harm nodded to his son who dashed off down the stairs leaving his dad alone to try and keep the tree propped up. Now, Harm was still a pretty strong guy for his age but he was clearly overmatched by the massive Christmas tree and it was slowly knocking him off balance as he tried to keep it propped up. "Matt?" Harm called as he strained under the seemingly growing weight of the tree. "Matt!"

Just then Harm felt the weight of the tree lessen and it began to get pulled upright again. "Still an accident waiting to happen, huh Harm?" A familiar voice rang from the other side of the tree and Nate Ross' head poked out from the other side.

"Hey, Nate when did you get here, I didn't hear you come in." Harm smiled as the two men stood the tree upright on its trunk again.

"You and Matt were out getting the tree when Nicole and I got here." Nate smiled. "So, your third Senate term off to any better a start than the first two?"

"Well, having seniority is certainly making things easier. Having a Republican President helps too." Harm relaxed a little bit. "So, do I refer to you as Mr. President or Mr. Commissioner now?"

"Even at MLB headquarters they refer to me as 'Mr. President', I don't think anyone in this country will ever think of me as anything else." Nate watched as Matt came running up the stairs waving the tree stand. "Anyone else here yet?"

"Not to my knowledge. Bax will probably be by with Jen and Katie in an hour or so, then once the five o'clock hour hits, my house should start filling up with kids." Harm and Nate lifted the tree and placed it in the tree stand. Then the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs bolted the tree into place so that it stood up straight. "Nate, can I get ya a glass of egg nog?"

"It's not like some kind of special, Rabb low-cholesterol, low fat, diet egg nog is it?" Nate questioned as the two of them headed toward the kitchen.

"No, it's just plain old ordinary egg nog." Harm laughed and poured a couple of snifters and handed one to his old friend. "So, what's it like being the Commissioner of Major League Baseball?"

"A lot like being President actually. I get to do a lot of really cool stuff, I have a huge staff that follows my every order and a bad day is one where I have to appear in front of Congress." Nate headed back into the living room with Harm. "Besides, I get to go to any game in the league, any night of the week at any park in the country. What's better than that?"

"Good point." Harm picked up the remote from the coffee table and sank down into the couch to watch the Washington Capitals-Pittsburgh Penguins hockey game being aired on NBC. The two men sat and talked amiably for almost an hour while their wives did much the same as they strung Christmas decorations throughout the house. No one seemed to know where Matthew Rabb and Hannah Ross had gone in the house. These two actually were best friends, and not in the way that Sasha and Brad had been at their age.

The doorbell rang at about four-thirty and Harm jogged out of the living room and into the entry hall to answer the door. "Bax!" Harm cheered as he welcomed his friend into the house with a hug. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, buddy." Bax smiled and handed Harm another carton of egg nog. "Figured there was a pretty good chance that we'd burn through this stuff tonight."

"Wise man." Harm smiled and took the carton.

"Uncle Harm, do you know where Matt is?" Katie Baxter questioned in her very chirpy soprano.

"I don't actually, but you should be able to find him and Hannah if you search the house." Harm smiled and watched Katie run off to find her friends. In her way, Katie Baxter looked every bit like her mother Jennifer but those who knew her knew that she had a lot of her father in her personality. Harm trusted Matt with Hannah Ross, she was a lot like her mother and Harm could tell that his son wasn't attracted to her so much as he just genuinely respected her. Katie was different because it was very easy for a father to tell when his son really wanted a girl and Matt really wanted Katie.

"Sir, where's the Chief Justice?" Jennifer looked to Harm.

"Jen, all these years later and you still can't refer to me and Mac by name?" Harm crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"No, sir." The former Petty Officer shook her head.

"I think her and Nicole are downstairs trying to find the decorations for the tree." Harm smiled and watched as Jen shrugged off her shoes and coat and headed for the stairwell.

"Pour you a drink?" Harm lifted the egg nog carton.

"Sure." Bax nodded and the two headed into the living room. He saw the familiar visage of his former Commander-in-Chief and a warm smile came to his face. "Boss!" Bax cheered yet again.

"Ethan." Nate extended his arm and shook Bax's hand. "Good to see you again."

"You too, boss. How's life up in New York as the Commissioner of Major League Baseball?" Bax gave his old boss a pat on the shoulder.

"Less busy in the winter, thank the good Lord." Nate smiled. "How about you, you're about to be forced into retirement after eleven years as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that's very impressive."

"Survived four Commandants of the Marine Corps, six Army Chiefs of Staff, six Air Force Chiefs of Staff and five Chiefs of Naval Operations." Bax grinned and shook his head. "And at the end of it all, I got a call from the Democratic National Committee this week and they have this crazy idea about me running for the open California Senate seat next year."

"Oh good Lord, I might have to work with you in the Senate." Harm walked back into the room with a glass for Bax.

"I doubt it, Hammer. Can you actually see me surviving a Senate campaign?" Bax laughed.

"No, but then I would have said the same thing about myself thirteen years ago." Harm laughed and sipped at his drink. There was a few seconds worth of silence before the doorbell rang again. Harm peaked an eyebrow, curious at who might be at the door before he trotted over to answer it. "Well, we weren't expecting you guys for about a half hour yet." Harm greeted the Turners at the door.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" Sturgis chortled loudly as he brushed the snow off his coat.

"No, I suppose not." Harm wrapped Sturgis' hand in a firm grip and gave it a shake. "How are you Bobbi?"

"About as happy as you are that Congress is in recess, I imagine." Bobbi replied with a smile.

"Hey Izzy; Matt, Hannah and Katie are all somewhere around here, feel free to go search for them." Harm turned to his son's best friend who went off in search of his friends. Izzy Turner was turning out to be quite a bit like his stoic father. He was a tall boy, just north of about six-foot-five and he was lanky. But Isaiah Turner always greeted everyone he spoke to with a warm smile and quick nod before he went on his way.

"Looks, like the house is already starting to fill with kids, Harm." Mac, Nicole and Jennifer made their way up into the main hallway from downstairs. "It's nice to see you guys." Mac greeted her newest guests. Sturgis Turner had just finished up his stint as the country's longest-serving Vice President, serving one term under Nate Ross before serving two under Danny Proper. Sturgis headed into the living room to join Harm, Nate and Bax while Bobbi walked into the dining room with Mac, Jen and Nicole.

"Mr. Vice President." Nate shook Sturgis' hand.

"Mr. President." Sturgis replied. "You know the last two terms just weren't the same without you, boss."

"I'm sure." Nate chuckled. "Did I hear right? Is Random House giving you a six figure advance to right your memoirs?"

"Yup." Sturgis nodded somewhat embarrassed. "Decided to call it 'The Devils You Know', figured those with a sense of humour would get a good laugh."

"Well, that eliminates most of official Washington." Harm joked and the four men had a good laugh. Of course, just as everyone was starting to settle in that damn doorbell rang again. Harm jogged into the entry hall once again only to find that Mac had beaten him to the door. It was opened to find the Roberts clan standing there in the cold with the whirling snow falling on them. Bud and Harriet were the first through the door. Bud took off his cover and tossed it on the hat rack before giving Mac a hug. Harriet was next to wrap her old friend in an embrace. "Madam Chief Justice and Sir, Merry Christmas." Harriet smiled.

"Harriet, not you too, we just had to tell Jennifer about that kind of thing." Harm groaned and wrapped the little blonde in a hug.

"Any off my old buddies here yet?" Jimmy Roberts stepped in.

"No, uh, Tommy, Sasha, Brad and Jack are all probably at Dulles right now, or just landing at Dulles or just driving to the house from Dulles." Mac searched her brain for answers. "Arleigh and Beverly will probably show up any time soon and Tim is probably buried under a mound of paperwork in his office."

"A.J and Lauren, come in out of the cold, you two." Mac pulled the older Roberts son and his new bride into the house.

"Hi, Mrs. Rabb, I wasn't sure what we should bring so I made an apple pie." Lauren handed Mac the tin and smiled nervously.

"A Naval officer and a good cook, I'd hold on to this one tight, A.J." Mac advised her godson.

"I'm trying to, Aunt Mac." A.J shouted after his godmother who was taking the pie into the kitchen.

"I think that's the end of the doorbells for now." Harm stated thankfully as the groups of people split up and then congregated in their various rooms of the house.

"Harm, before we go any further," Bax interjected in a whisper, "you aren't letting Mac cook are you?"

"No, I figured we'd want to limit the number of food poisoning cases, so I did most of the work in the kitchen." Harm joked.

POV SHIFT

Wind whips snow around D.C at Christmas like some kind of Disney snowglobe. The first wind blows off the Chesapeake and uses the Potomac like a wind corridor. The second comes up from the Virginia Tidewater and creates a kind of crosscurrent right around D.C. Sasha and I just flew in from Boston with the baby. I love living in Boston and I simply just love my life right now. Sasha and I got married just over two years ago and the baby was born nineteen months ago. The last few years have been truly excellent all things considered. Sasha graduated from Medical School last year and is now working at Boston Mercy Hospital. I signed a seven year, 71 million dollar contract with Boston about five and a half seasons ago and in that time I've won two scoring titles, led the league in goal scoring four times and been the league's Most Valuable Player twice. Add to that the fact that I've won a World Championship gold medal and an Olympic silver medal in that time and I think I've had a pretty good few years professionally.

Sasha and I dated for three years before I proposed to her and we were engaged for three and a half years before we got married. She wanted to do as much as we could during the parts of the years when she wasn't in school. Which is why we got married in late June, and I'm starting to think also the reason that our son was born in late May. I get a rental car and head out the door where Sasha is standing with little Nolan Francis Ross at her side, wrapped around his mother's leg. I attach the car-seat in the back and buckle in little Nolan good and tight.

It's worth giving a little background detail on the newest addition I suppose. Nolan Francis Ross was born on May 24th and was one massive baby. He measured 22 ¼ inches and nine pounds-six ounces. This led to a year's worth of jokes from Jack who would make genetics jokes about all of us being tall and the kids two grandfathers both being over six-foot-three. He was named for his godfather, and the three-time reigning champion of the award for the NHL's best defenseman, Nolan White. He was also named for his late great-grandfather Frank Burnett, to whom his mother was quite close when she was a child. It also worked out pretty well because when the Cardinal of the Boston archdiocese baptized him, we didn't have to give him an extra Catholic middle name since Francis is also a Saint.

"Think you can still remember the way to my parents' house?" My wife teases we with a quick wink and a smile.

"Yeah, I think so, I might even toss a pebble at your old bedroom window for old time's sake." I grin and slide in behind the wheel. I adjust the seat and the radio so I can hear a few quality Elvis Christmas songs leak in over the radio. I've got four days before I've got to fly back to Boston to play our first post-Christmas game against my old friend Nick Bay and his Toronto Maple Leafs. Last summer, my dad found every excuse he could to fly up from New York to Boston and spend time at Fenway with me and Nolan. Sasha's parents came up about four times last summer and Nate's mom came home from helping the current President broker a peace deal in the caucasus in order to see Nolan three times.

You might want to hear about a few of the rest of the gang, I'll give you what updates I can and I'll try not to get into too much detail. Jack was basically, Jack. He was a two-time all-American Quarterback for Boston College and he's since moved on to being the back-up and now the starting Quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles. Harry, in spite of being without a doubt the smartest Ross boy, didn't follow Dad to Princeton or Tim to Yale, he went to Annapolis. Of all of us, people would have picked Jack or picked me to go to Annapolis but Tim went and he just got his first assignment to Quantico at the end of term last summer. Tommy Rabb went to Annapolis to became a Naval Aviator just like his old man. He was on a deployment off the Lincoln last summer but he's at Pax River right now. Arleigh Chegwidden did play four years worth of football for Navy and he went on to be a United States Navy SEAL.

As for Tim, well Tim's another case.

POV SHIFT

I've spent the last five years living in Northern Virginia. I was lucky enough and driven enough to make it through Harvard law school in a year and a half. After that I became an attorney working for the U.S. Attorney for D.C. About ten months later, I became the Assistant U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia and then after my boss was the subject of a major Congressional investigation, the Chief Justice of the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals appointed me as the interim U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. When the next midterms came around, I stepped down from my post and went to work for my mom's Senate office as her Chief Political Advisor.

This must seem like a meteoric rise to you all but you have to remember one thing, I was raised in politics. You might not think that a kid in his early teens would have much comprehension of the political intricacies of his father's White House but the White House accelerates your wisdom cycle. knew what a news-cycle was when I was eleven years old. I was acquainted with message calendars and policy briefings by thirteen. I had uncles and family friends who were some of the brightest political minds in the Democratic Party. I was the Chairman of the Young Democrats at Yale when I was a Sophomore and I have a JD from Harvard. Both of those degrees mean less on Capitol Hill because generally you can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone with a similar resume. What makes me different, what gets my foot in the door is my last name. I'm a Ross. My dad was the most respected President since Harry Truman and my mother is the most respected Democratic foreign policy mind in the Senate. My family is the political equivalent of the Mafia. Harmon Rabb is one of our in-laws and he's the ranking Republican on the Armed Service Committee. Trust me when I tell you that I had no problem getting the Speaker of the House or the Secretary of State to return my phone calls when I was my mother's Chief of Staff.

That was only my day job though, by nights and weekends I was making the rubber chicken dinner circuit in the Virginia 11th Congressional District trying to set up my campaign for the seat the next year. Well, being a Ross, being a centrist Democrat and living in the district for the previous few years all really aided my campaign. I won by six and a half points in my district and for the last ten months I've been Congressman Tim Ross of the Virginia 11th. The one thing that my dad's Democrats did is learn to cushion their rising stars. Upon election, I was in seemingly constant communication with the Speaker and the Majority leader, as well as other prominent Congressional Democrats. They gave me an office suite in the Canon House office building and when they sent me to the steering committee that dealt me good assignments to the House Appropriations, Armed Services and Judiciary committees. I was also selected to sit on the Permanent Select committee on Intelligence.

Most days I go into the office around 7am with a copy of the Washington Post tucked under my arm. My good mood is usually shot to hell by 7:30 and I spend most of the rest of the morning trying to get it back. In the afternoon, it's on to committee and subcommittee hearings, where seniority usually means I'm the last guy who gets to ask questions but I'm the guy a lot of my fellow Democratic freshmen are looking to for leadership. I've never dominated meetings with my personality, my presence or my charisma, those are traits of my father's that have been passed down to Brad and Jack. I'm like my mom, I gain a following in committee rooms because I'm one of the smartest, most well-prepared guys there and I try to intimidate by being smart. Something which is effective more often then not.

Most nights I'm in the office until 9:30 pm, which is usually when I can't tolerate staring at one more letter of twelve point Times New Roman font. I drive back into Virginia, climb the steps to my third floor walk-up loft in Fairfax and I watch CNN for an hour before flopping down into my bed. Yes, I'm still single and I'm not sure at twenty-eight years-old whether that's voluntary or not. I've never made real money since I've been in government service since I got out of law school. Which is odd because I've got two brothers who could jointly fund the space program for the next two fiscal years. I'm not sure if that's jealousy or not, they've got money and I've got power.

I'm currently buried in the latest appropriation rounds before the budget comes out trying to find anything I could justifiably object to when the committee reconvenes in January. I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare at the clock. It's a mercifully short drive from Fairfax to Great Falls so I'm not in any rush to get to the Christmas Party. I yawn and curse the numbers I see on the page in front of me for the fiftieth time this hour. I'm not sure what kind of girl I'm supposed to date. My brothers have had it easy. Brad's had Sasha since he was seventeen. Jack dates models, Jack dates actresses and Jack pretty much dates who Jack wants for the same reason that a dog licks his...well you know...because he can. It's a common sense dating equation: the media gives Jack power, the Philadelphia Eagles give Jack money and so do most of his major endorsement deals. With Brad, the equation is similar, but he doesn't care as much. Brad seems to simply disappear into his own little world.

POV SHIFT

I loved flying up to Boston this past summer to visit my new grandson and thank God for Brad's job because he was able to spend enough time at home to be with Sasha while she was pregnant. Just like her mother though, Sasha tried to stay at work as long as she could. With the way the snow is whipping around out there, I hope they're okay driving in from Dulles. Looking back on it, I don't think my daughter could have fallen in love with a better guy. Though admittedly, I haven't always felt this way.

_Eight Years Earlier - _

"Mac are you sure this is where Sasha lives? This building looks way too nice for a student budget." I looked around. "We passed a doorman on the way in, how many students live in buildings with doormen?"

"Harm, listen, I'm just heading to the address I was given, okay?" Mac tosses me a piercing glare that causes me to instantly fasten my lips shut. We walk down a long hallway once we get to the fourth floor and Mac is carefully scanning the numbers on the doors for the right one. "Here, this is it, this is 404."

"Mac, I'm telling you, this place is too nice, we're pretty much right down the street from Fenway Park." I protest again only to watch Mac shake her head, roll her eyes and ring the doorbell anyway.

"Coming!" I hear shouted from the other side of the door and I definitely recognize that voice as my little girl's. After a few seconds, the door is flung open and Sasha is standing there still in her pyjamas.

"It's 10 in the morning, isn't that a little late to still be sleeping?" Mac questions with a smile on her face.

"Not if you don't have class until 1." Sasha replies as she welcomes us into the apartment. When I walk in, I know something's up. This isn't an apartment, it's a condo and no twenty-year old college student can afford a condo. This place is much nicer than my place was when I worked at JAG. There's two levels to this place, the television is bigger than Sasha is and the furniture...well, my daughter has great taste but once again the quality is well above her budget level. "So what brings you guys to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts?"

"I'm presiding over a moot court competition at Harvard this afternoon and your father just got done an inspection tour at the Naval base in New London over the weekend." Mac explains as we take a seat in the living room.

"Can I get you guys some coffee?" Sasha looked a little uncomfortable as she stood in the living room. I watched as my daughter cast noticeable glances at the front door and then at the archway to the kitchen.

"Sure, that would be great." Mac nodded and Sasha disappeared for a few seconds to make coffee in the kitchen."Okay. Harm, I'm finally with you on this one, this place is way too nice for 20 college students to afford." Mac whispers to me. "Something is definitely up."

Of course, it would be then that I would hear the lock on the door click and the door made a loud creaking sound as it swung open. "Honey, I'm ho-oh shit!" Brad Ross walked right into the living room and saw me and Mac sitting on the couch. "Mr and Mrs. Rabb, nice to see you again."

"See, now it all makes sense." I remark to Mac. Sasha pads into the living room with her head hung and her eyes staring right at her feet. Judging by the state of dress of Bradley Ross, he likely just got back from his morning skate with the Bruins. Once again, it seems worth stating that my daughter seems to have put her personal stamp on everything in this apartment as Brad is dressed in a suit that he can obviously afford but is way too stylish for him to have picked it out without some serious help. He assumes the typical protective role as he walks over and puts his arm over Sasha's shoulders.

"I suppose you guys were going to find out eventually anyway." Sasha clears her throat.

"You didn't think it was a good idea to maybe tell us before you moved in?" Mac launches herself up off the couch and moved toward the two of them.

"Well, Mom, you got married when you were still a teenager." Sasha rebutted and Brad was in obvious disagreement with Sasha on how to proceed here because I forced back a laugh when I saw him pinch the bridge of his nose and shake his head.

"Yeah, and if you want to talk about the spectacular failures in my life, that's at the top of the list." Mac retorted harshly. I could sense that Brad wanted to step in but I knew that the time was quite there yet.

"Mom, it's not like we're married, I mean living together, sure. I can't see why you're so upset." Sasha comes back.

"Listen, this wasn't some sinister plot to cut you guys out of the loop, it's her junior year, she spent a lot of nights here last year when the team wasn't out of town on road trips and..." Brad notices that everyone in the room's eyes have just gone wide and are glaring right at him. "And I should shut up now, shouldn't I?"

"Yes!" Mac, Sasha and I all say at the same time. Brad nods and steps back from the situation. I feel a little bad for him so I step in. "Brad, perhaps it's best if you and I step out on to the balcony and talk as men do."

"Talk as men do? What the hell, Harm?" Mac turns on me but by that time, Brad and I have already headed on to the balcony.

"Listen, Mr. Rabb, I'm realy sorry for not telling you before..." I cut the young man off mid sentence.

"I just said what I said because I know what my wife is like when she's angry." I explain. "I've just given her something else to be pissed at. Now, her and my daughter will talk and laugh for a few minutes about my saying something chauvinistic, and I'll get chewed out a little on the way home. That will make yours and Sasha's lives much easier once we leave."

"That was very kind of you, sir." Brad gives me an appreciative nod.

"Not really, I was gonna get an earful on the way home anyway, figured I might as well earn it." I laugh and give him a pat on the shoulder. "Now, I believe we had a gentleman's agreement that before any major liberties were taken with regard to my daughter, my permission would be sought first."

"Sir, when we made that agreement, I was only talking about asking her to marry me and trust me, before I do that, I will be very old fashioned and ask for permission first." Brad assured me as he leaned back agains the door to the balcony. "The whole moving thing was really convenience. She's close to campus, close to book stores and the markets here. The building's quiet because there aren't a lot of university tennants and a lot of the time I'm not even here to distract her since the team does play 41 road games every year. Besides like I said, she was here so often last year it just made more sense to..."

I cut him off again. "Brad, remember who you're talking to before you finish that sentence." I warn him. "What would you think if, in a few years, the boyfriend of your little sister tried to peddle that line off on you?"

"I'm lucky, I don't have to worry about that, sir." Brad replies assertively.

"Why not?" I sound a little confused.

"Sir, my dad was the President of the United States. My guess is that any guy who wants to date Hannah is gonna keep himself so clean he could enter an OR without scrubbing up first." Brad and I share a laugh and head back into the apartment.

_Present Day - _

Now, my conversations with my son-in-law haven't always been that collegial. We have had a few rows over the years. When it came time to pay for the wedding, he and I fought over who should. And there were some real fun ones just before Nolan was born because Boston was in the playoffs and Brad was going to be in Montreal for a few days, which meant that Mac and I had to head up to Boston to keep an eye on Sasha while Brad was out of town. Of course, if the baby actually was on its way, he would have hopped on a plane from Mirabel to Logan even if we called him in the middle of the game.

The doorbell rings again and I rush over to open the door. Sure enough, there's Lieutenant j.g. Tommy Rabb standing there. My son steps through the door and wraps me in a big hug. "Merry Christmas, Dad." He tells me as he gives me a pat on the back. Mac walks into the entry way and Tommy moves away from me to give his mom a hug. He lifts Mac up off the ground causing her to laugh boisterously.

"Tommy, put me down!" Mac insists and sure enough, Tommy lowers his mother back to the ground. My son looks pretty much exactly like I did at twenty-five. Something which only adds to my grey hair, since I can vividly remember what I was like at twenty-five.

A few moments after Tommy arrives, Helene Ross-Cloutier arrives with her family. Nate's daughter has developed into an almost mirror image personality of Nicole. After four years at Boston College, she spent three at Columbia Law and has since followed a career path that took her through the Justice Department, to the Democratic National Committee and now she's the Attorney General for the State of Maryland. She arrives with her two girls and her husband Pierre who's a mid-level diplomat at the Canadian embassy.

I remember being at that wedding, I've never seen a young man so intimidated in his life than young Pierre was that afternoon. Anna and Sergei arrived here just about a half-hour ago with their daughter, and let me say that I'm incredibly amused watching my brother get more and more protective as little Maria nears her teenage years. The doorbell rings again and I'm forced to trot out of the living room and back into the entry way. There's gonna be between thirty and forty people at this little Christmas Party and I'm amazed there's enough room in this house.

"Mr. Rabb." Jack Ross grins at me and shakes my hand as I let him and his girlfriend into the house. "It's really coming down out there, they closed Philly International this morning."

"They did? Any news on Logan or Dulles?" I question quickly, wondering if the Sasha and Brad have been caught in the storm somewhere on the East Coast.

"Nah." Brad brushes some of the snow off his jacket as he takes it off. "Don't worry though, Mr. Rabb. If they'd closed Logan, Brad and Sasha would have called and if they'd closed Dulles, they might have diverted the plane to National."

"Jack, if they closed Philly International, how did you get here exactly?" Nate pops his head into the entry way.

"Amtrak, Dad." Jack answers with a grin. "The tracks hadn't frozen by the time we got in this morning but the journey over here from Union Station was fun with all the traffic on the bridge." Jack and his girlfriend walk in to the living room to join the other guests. "Dad, Mom, this is..."

"Jack, we do own a TV, ya know. We know this is Kelly Carter." Nicole steps between her husband and son. "Nice to meet you, dear."

"And you too, Mr and Mrs. Rabb." The young girl smiles at her boyfriend's parents. For me, it's interesting to watch the kind of men the young Ross boys grew into. Brad kind of became a normal guy. He settled down to raise a family and be a working joe, just one that earns a lot more than the average working joe. Jack decided to become the family playboy, the guy who hangs out with rock stars and dates models, popstars and starlets. The one on his arm right now, is a Victoria's Secret Model named Kelly Carter. Another ring of the doorbell and I take two steps from the archway to the living room back to the door.

I open the door only to find a freezing public official shivering on my front step. "Damn, it's cold out here." Tim Ross shakes the snow out of his cropped black hair as he steps into the house.

"Nice to see you, Congressman." I shake the hand of my fellow legislator and member of the Virginia Congressional delegation.

"And you too, Senator." Tim grins as he shakes my hand. "And a Merry Christmas, sir." I take Tim's jacket. Ever the workaholic, Tim's still in his suit, which tells me that he likely just came from his office.

"Tim, don't you ever take that thing off?"I hear Jack cajole from inside the living room as Tim walks inside.

POV SHIFT

We walk up to a door that I can vividly remember so well from so much of my time growing up. I look up at my husband who's holding our son in his arms. Little Nolan is getting really big, even for a kid who's only 19 months old. I brush a little snow off the hood of his snowsuit before I ring the doorbell. It takes me a little to let it all sink in. I cast a quick glance up at my husband who smiles at me with his inquiring eyes. "What?" He asks innocently.

"Just hoping I get caught under the mistletoe with you, Cap." I smile back at him and lean up and rub my chilled nose against his.

"Mama!" I hear little Nolan cheer exuberantly and I can't help but smile a little wider. The door opens and there's the image of my Dad standing there in the doorway. He looks a little older than my memories will allow me to think of him as. Those lines on his face are more age than stress now. That grey in his hair makes him look very distinguished. He's every bit my dad though. Suddenly I'm overtaken by a powerful memory.

_Three and a Half Years earlier..._

"Oh damn, where's your father?" My mother searches the bridal suite in the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.

"Mom, he'll be waiting for me just where he should be when the time comes, he's probably just imparting some last minute threats on to Brad." I joke as I adjust this strapless dress for the third time.

"Yeah, well that's probably true but we went through this three times at rehearsal yesterday just to be sure that your dad would be in the right place at the right time." Mom isstill wringing her hands with anticipation.

"Mom, everything will be okay." I walk over and put my hand on her shoulder. "It's never taken dad more than five minutes to threaten Brad in the past, I don't know why now would be any different." I joke again and my mom finally laughs.

"I can't believe you're getting married." My mother cups my cheek.

"Well, it's one of those hazards of letting your children grow up." I smile at her.

"I'll know better with Tommy and Matt." Mom jokes back. She's starting to choke up. She looks up at the clock one last time and leads me out of the bridal suite. We get to the bottom of the stairs from the bridal suite and sure enough, there's my father standing at the bottom waiting for me. Mom hands me off to dad and goes to take her seat at the front of the church.

My dad just stands there looking at me. "You look absolutely stunning, Sasha-bear." He looks like he's about to cry too.

"Thanks, Daddy." I blush a little bit. He still looks like his mind has drifted off into the distance. "Daddy?"

"I'm sorry, bear, I just got caught remembering this one time I went Christmas shopping with you when you were four years old." I was looking at the toy cars for Tommy for just a second and you slipped off my arm and away you went. I panicked when I couldn't find you and I ran through the store shouting your name at the top of my lungs. Sure enough, there you were two aisles over, looking into a mirror with a white sheet over your face hugging a little bear that was dressed up as a groom. You were looking into this little Fisher-Price mirror and I asked what you were doing. You told me "Dad, I'm gonna get married soon, I'm just practising."

Dad laughs and shakes his head. "Dad, you need to learn to enjoy this a little more. Just think, the only other person than the Cardinal that gets to address a room with as many members of Congress in it as that one, is the President." I joke again and my Dad is forced to chuckle a little.

"I'm losing my little girl." He shakes his head.

"You could look at it this way dad, you're gaining a son." I tell him and he rolls his eyes.

_Present Day..._

"Gampa Humm!" I hear Nolan cheer from inside Brad's arms.

"He still can't say 'Harm'." Brad lifts little Nolan into my Dad's arms.

"He is getting big though." My dad grunts as he lifts his grandson. My mom comes into the entry way.

"How's my daughter?" She questions as she hauls me into an embrace.

"Overworked and over-travelled." I fake exasperation. "The shuttle from Logan to Dulles was delayed on the ground in Boston, then we got delayed with the headwind coming into D.C."

"Then we had a problem getting the rental car and finally the traffic crossing the bridge into Virginia from the District was enough to make a Scandinavian off himself." Brad took my coat and his.

"I guess that answers the question of how my son-in-law is." Mom smiles as Brad gives her a hug.

"Hey, Mom." He smiles as he gives her a quick hug. "Where do I put the coats?"

"Just give them to Harm, he's been running coat-check all evening." Mom laughs as dad rolls his eyes. Dad takes his grandson and the two jackets over to the walk-in closet just off the entry-hall. Bradley and I make our way into the living room where most of our known relatives and family friends seem to have gathered.

"Hey, it's the Congressman!" Brad jeers as he walks up to Tim who's standing with Jack, Tommy, Jimmy, A.J and Arleigh over by the punch bowl. Brad bounds over and wraps his slightly younger (54 minutes) brother in a headlock. "How have you been, you son of a bitch?"

"Not bad, Congress isn't a like falling off a log, ya know?" Tim responds somewhat blandly.

"I've heard, that's why smart Congressmen make for the Senate as fast as possible." Brad jokes and both of us hear a throat clearing behind us.

"What was that, Bradley Frederick?" My mother-in-law asks, with her hands placed sternly on her hips.

"Nothin', ma." Brad responds, realizing that he nearly knocked his teeth out by shoving his foot in his mouth at that speed.

"Good, now give your mother a hug." She demands and Brad makes a big show of reluctantly leaning down and hugging his mother before giving her a kiss on the cheek and hoisting her up on to his shoulder. "Bradley! Put me down!" She demands and Brad laughs heartily. "I'm not a young woman any more."

"Is that true, Dad?" Brad looks to his father who's chuckling boisterously.

"Alright, sport, return your mother to the ground." Nate points to the carpet and Brad sets his mother back down on her feet.

"So, how's Major League Baseball treating you, dad?" Brad looks to his dad.

"Can't complain, your mother hits me if I do." Mr. Ross says in his usual good humour.

"Nathan!" Mrs. Ross protests before playfully whacking him across the arms.

"Now, where's my grandson?" My father-in-law demands.

"Right here." My dad enters the room and hands little Nolan off to his other grandfather.

"Gampa Nay." Nolan says excitedly.

"Well, that's closer than Humm." Brad jokes and my Dad shakes his head at him, causing Brad to laugh a little louder. "Well, I've said hello to these two monsters." Brad wraps an arm around Jack and Tim's shoulders. "Where's my little brother? And my sisters?"

"Well, Harry's around here somewhere." Nicole looks over her shoulders searching for her youngest son. "So's Helene. As for Hannah, her and her friends are upstairs somewhere I believe."

"Well, since we know where she is, I'll go say hello to her first then." Brad takes my hand and we bound up the stairs searching for both his little sister Hannah and my little brother Matty. We look into all the open doors trying to find them. I can understand why teenagers would rather be separate from the adults, hell when it was me and Brad we used to stay apart just because it was more fun and then later it was so we could make-out.

Brad pushes open the door to my old room which is a little open and he hears a scream from inside. I step in and am welcomed by the sight of Hannah Ross and Izzy Turner making out on by old bedroom floor. "Brad!" Hannah protests. "What the heck, can't you knock?"

"The door was open." Brad retorts weakly. "Mom and Dad didn't tell me you were dating Izzy."

"That's because they don't know." Hannah answers. "Outside of me and Izzy, you two are now the only two who do know." She gets up off the floor and walks over to us. "And Brad, you gotta promise me that you're going to keep it that way, okay? You can't tell dad."

"Well, I don't know..." Brad hesitates. "I don't like lying to dad."

"Since when? You used to do it all the time when we were teenagers?" I look up at my husband in disbelief.

"Okay, I'll rephrase. Since I became a father, I don't like lying to Dad." He says. I reach up and put my hand over his mouth.

"Hannah, don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't say anything." I assure my sister-in-law.

"You're the best, Sash." She smiles at me.

"I know." I tell her. "But Izzy, Hannah's a nice girl, you don't sneak around with nice girls. You should have a conversation of your own with Mr. Ross at some point, okay?" I adopt my best maternal tone.

"Understood, ." Izzy nods emphatically.

"Good, now Bradley, come along." I take him by the hand and lead him out of the room. "Oh, and Hannah, where's my brother Matty?"

"Trying to make out with Katie Baxter about two doors down." Hannah answers.

"Trying?" I ask curiously.

"Been trying for a whole year, he'd have more success defying gravity." Hannah answers with a quick giggle.

"And Izzy, my wife was serious about that talk with my dad." Brad emphasizes and Izzy adopts a look of instant terror.

POV SHIFT

I stand out on the veranda behind the house with a glass of hot apple cider cupped in my hands to keep them warm. I like a party as well as anyone, but sometimes amidst all the ruckus, it's tough to hear oneself think. I look through the doors into the house and see my son and his wife there with their young son and it takes me back to a time in my life when I was young and the world was laid out in front of me. I like to think that men like me and Harm have left good footprints for them to follow, that we followed that unwritten commandment that said "We will give our children better than we ourselves had".

"Observing the crowd, Mr. Ross?" Izzy Turner joins me on the balcony.

"Just trying to collect my thoughts, young Master Turner. It's tough to do with all the chatter." I smile at the young man. He looks hesitant, almost like he wants to ask me a question but he's absolutely terrified that I've got the power to exile him to a radar station in Antarctica. "Something on your mind, Mister Turner?"

"Kind of, sir." The young man replies weakly. "There's just, uh.... this one thing, sir...it's nothing really." He shakes his head.

"Mr. Turner, my powers to punish you have been greatly exaggerated." I laugh. "Now speak, young man. For your life is too brief to waste time on meaningless words, give priority to meaning."

"Yes, sir." He nods tepidly. "Mr. President, I'm dating your daughter."

I nearly spit my hot apple cider all over the front of my coat. "Well, that certainly was meaningful." I wipe my lips with my glove. "How long has this been going on?"

"About two months." He answers with a terrified look in his eye.

"You've been sneaking around with my daughter for two months?"I toss him a piercing glare.

"Ease up on the boy, dad." Brad cheers from behind Izzy as he comes walking out on to the porch.

"Who else knows?" I inquire with a no-nonsense expression.

"Just Brad and Sasha, sir." He assures me. "This was not a massive conspiracy to keep you out of the loop, sir."

"Good to hear." I try to slowly comprehend the information. "You know that she's going to William and Mary next year, right?"

"I do." Izzy nods slowly.

"What are your plans for the future?" I look him over slowly.

"Well, I got a ride to Georgetown next year as a 6'3" point guard, sir." Young Master Turner assures me.

"So, you wanna take a few runs to the Final Four before heading up to the NBA?" I ask, still trying to fish out some information about this young man whom I know so little about.

"A few runs to the Final Four would be nice, sir, but for me it's a ride to law school. I watched my dad serve as Vice President for twelve years, my mom is one of the most respected Democrats in the Senate, I think I might like to get into public service." He explains, like he's finally starting to feel comfortable around me.

"Well, you help take Georgetown to a couple Final Fours and you'll have no trouble getting elected in Maryland." Brad gives him a pat on the back. "Just remember one thing. She has four older brothers, two are pro athletes, one's a Marine infantry officer and the other is a Congressman, there literally is no group of four people more able to cause you eight kinds of pain."

"Yes, sir." Izzy was back to frightened. "And I'll remember what Sasha told me earlier, sir, you don't sneak around with nice girls."

"Good boy." Brad smiles and Izzy sprints back into the house. "So, what's with the grilling, dad?"

" Just typical, I did it with Helene's boyfriend's." I answer shrugging my shoulders.

"Never that bad." Brad stands next to me up against the railing. "You got a racial problem?" He asks quietly.

"Racial? No, I don't have a racial problem." I spurt out trying not to sound indignant. "I don't."

"I wouldn't fault you, you're from a different generation." He tries to explain. "It wasn't that common for you growing up."

"I'm also the one who raised you not to believed bullshit excuses like that." I rebut. "My problem is not that he's black and she's white, my problem is that she's a girl and he's not."

"You'd prefer if Hannah was a lesbian, Dad?" Brad questions curiously.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." I deadpan my son. "It's just proof that the last of my children has reached that stage of life. Your mother did this when you started dating."

"Yeah, that was fun." Brad chuckles and we both let out a sigh. "What's up with you."

"Still trying to get my hands around a few things lately." I answer cryptically. "Your brother's rise through the halls of power on Capitol Hill among them."

"That was a hell of a thing." Brad nods slowly and crooks his head. "He wants to be you, ya know?"

"He's his own man." I rebut.

"He'll never be." Brad asks. "Not until it's put on him to be. He goes from Harvard Law to the office of the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. Climbs the ladder there very quickly, moves over to mom's office and fast shows the DNC that he's one of the best political minds that the party has seen since Rahm Emanuel. So, what do they do? They look at his name, they look at his looks and his resume and they clear the field in the primary so he can challenge a Republican congressman in the Virginia 11th." Brad takes a breath. "All the while, he's left asking: would I have gotten into Yale without my dad? How about Harvard? Or the U.S. Attorney's office?"

"Your point?" I ask.

"Can you imagine what it's like never knowing if your accomplishments are your own?" Brad presses. "Especially with Tim because you two are gifted intellectuals. For me and Jack it was easy, you suck at what we do for a living. Tim will never be satisfied until he runs a pen across his own page in history, at this point, the only way he thinks that is ever going to happen is to sit in the Oval Office."

"It's a fabulous prison that marble palace on Pennsylvania Avenue. There was a time in our history that needed leadership, though I suppose all times in our history are times for great leaders with big ideas. I didn't run because I thought I could be Harry Truman or Franklin Roosevelt, I ran because I thought I would be better than the other guys who were running." I watch my breath fog the night as I exhale. "You have to have an ego to sit behind that desk. You have to know that you're alone when you make decisions in that room. You have to be humble but confident, strong but compassionate and mature but passionate."

"You don't think he can do it?" Brad searches for an explanation.

"I raised all of you to believe that you can do anything and you can." I crack my knuckles. "You're an Olympian, Jack's the starting Quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles, Tim's a Congressman, Harry's an officer in the Marine Corps, Helene is the Attorney General for Maryland and Hannah is headed to William & Mary next year, obviously you kid took my advice and your mother's to heart."

"Tim thinks he can be President." Brad theorizes. "And he may yet be. But..."

"But what?" I look to my eldest son who appears to have prematurely gained the wisdom that comes with your firstborn.

"It just seems to me, because I read from time to time. That the great Presidents, they have two parts. They have the cold intellect and the warm person. They marry intelligence and compassion so that they celebrate the nation's triumphs but they also bear the nation's scars. I read about Lincoln and I just can't believe how marvellous that man was, and then the same thing with FDR. There's an intergrity about them, a nobility, a sense that our enjoyment of them is not meant for great lengths of time." Brad stares off. "God knows, Tim has the intellect. He's brilliant and determined and more capable than the next ten men who would line up behind him. But then there's you."

"Me?" I question.

"You got there. I did something I've never done before, and I read a biography of your time as President. You got there. When the nation was in trouble, you were at your best and when it looked like the world might beat you, you refused to let it." Brad lets out a shifty exhale. "Tim is willing to spend his life chasing ghosts and that's fine. Each man should have the power to excise as many ghosts as he wishes but unless he can best you, unless he can develop that compassion where he bleeds for every man who bleeds and cries with every mother who cries and fights alongside every soldier who fights, he'll never fully excise your ghost."

"You're making me out to be more than I was let me assure you." I pat my son on the shoulder. "Being President is a joint exercise, I never ever would have been the man you read about without your mother. I'm not sure that I am that man anyway, it seems to me we do a disservice to the men of that office by putting them on mountaintops, it makes us forget that they walk as mere mortals. The humanity of that job is what makes Presidents good or bad."

"It's not just that though, you were right earlier. It's a moment in time that gets frozen so that the whole nation can enjoy it." Brad shakes his head. "I was in downtown Boston, out by the Common just walking around with my earphones in looking for Sasha's Christmas present one night last week. When _Fairytale of New York, _ that old song by The Pogues started pounding in my ears. There it was, the falling snow and the cold and the ancient houses of Old Boston around me and the lamentation in that song, I swear that I teared up a little bit. It's those moments that make life in America what it is. Do you know when you had that moment, Dad?"

"I've had a few, marrying your mother was one." I reply quietly.

"I mean when you were President." He presses again.

"Yeah, yeah one moment stands out." I nod. "It was my second inaugural, right after we stopped the Russians and Chinese from going to war and I got to stand there and say that America stood at the forefront of a world of peace, prosperity and partnership and that in credence to our own better angels we had endured the hell of war to save a world that we all share and to pass on a brighter star to our children."

"And that was the name of that biography; _A Brighter Star._" Brad smiles sombrely. "He needs to know he can do it without you." Brad points through the glass window to where Tim is standing with Jack, Arleigh the Roberts boys.

"He'll know. There are moments in our lives when destiny calls us to be people of greater purpose." I nod knowingly. "When it happens to him, he'll know. But you already know."

"I do." Brad nods and looks lovingly in at his young wife and son. I swear I see a tear well in my son's eye.

"You were born older, Brad." I give him a pat on the back as we head back into the house.

"Merry Christmas, Dad." My son wraps me in a quick hug as we move back through the door into the house.

POV SHIFT

My husband comes back into the house and walks right over to me. He wraps one of those big tree-trunk arms around my shoulders and presses his lips into the top of my head with an urgent tenderness. He lovingly strokes the top of little Nolan's head and I swear I can see the soft glistening of a tear running down his cheek. I smile for a quick second before leaning up and kissing his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Honey." I whisper to him.

"Merry Christmas, beautiful." He chokes back.

"Alright everyone, now if I may have your attention." My dad calls for the attention of the room and we all look at him. "It's good to have so many close friends and family here tonight. It's also rare that I get to embarrass the Chief Justice like this so I figured I might as well take advantage of it." Mom tosses dad a glare and there's some hooting from the boys on the other side of the piano.

"You're in for it now, Harm." Uncle Sturgis calls over.

"I happen to know that Mac does one hell of a rendition of _I'll Be Home for Christmas_ and I'd like to call your attention to her." Dad points toward Mom who shakes her head. Lauren, A.J Roberts' wife steps in next to her and sits down at the piano.

"Go on, Mrs. Rabb, I'll accompany you." She encourages.

"Harm, I'll get you for this." Mom threatens as she clears her throat

_I'm dreaming tonight of a place I know_

_Even more than I usually do_

_And although I know_

_It's a long road back_

_I promise you_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can count on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe_

_And presents under the tree_

I look around and see all these people I love. I see Dad lovingly gazing at mom; I see Mrs. Ross tucked against Mr. Ross' chest. I see Jack and Kelly nose to nose staring into each other's eyes. I even see Izzy Turner hesitantly reach for Hannah Ross' hand and she willingly reaches back. I smile and lean back to kiss my husband's cheek again. These are the little moments I love living for.

_Christmas eve will find me_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

_Christmas eve will find me_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

Merry Christmas everyone!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR MEN AND WOMEN OF OUR ARMED FORCES SERVING OVERSEAS. MAY THE NEW YEAR SEE THEM SAFELY RETURNED HOME TO THOSE WHO LOVE THEM. MAY HE GUIDE THE NEW PRESIDENT-ELECT IN ALL HIS DECISIONS AND LET HIM RISE TO THAT MOMENT WHICH HAS CALLED HIM TO BE A MAN OF HIGHER PURPOSE


End file.
